Heroes Revisited
by Ridley C. James
Summary: PreSeries. Sam Winchester is growing up.  It's hard to do when you're caught in the shadows of well meaning family. But one wrong move, and Sam suddenly finds himself in a storm of emotions without any shelter in sight.
1. Chapter 1

Heroes-Revisited

Chapter 1

By: Ridley C. James

Beta & contributor: Tidia

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me.

A/N: This is a rework of an older story due to requests about The Brotherhood. Thanks to Tidia, who has helped with this tremendously, we're updating this piece, which was actually the beginnings of The Brotherhood AU. Looking back over the original we decided it definitely needed to be tweaked…and tweaked…and tweaked. The characters had changed a great deal. So, we played, and I hope this story is better because of it. Let me know what you think.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

_**As you get older, it is harder to have heroes, but is sort of necessary.**_

_**-Ernest Hemmingway**_

Thirteen-year-old Sam Winchester was caught in a nightmare.

_Red and orange waves washed across the blood splattered ceiling tiles above him, pulsating with the promise of pain and certain death. _

_A five-year-old Sam Winchester cowered in a tiny bed, unable to move or scream. _

_He didn't want to be burned. He knew fire was the enemy. It had taken his mother and as much as he wanted to see her-he wanted to stay with his dad and brother more. _

_But he wasn't given a choice. _

_Blazing arms reached for him, their fiery tendrils scorching his tender skin as they drew his body into their unforgiving embrace. _

_And he screamed. _

_Over and over again he screamed as the fire took him. _

"Sam! Sammy? It's okay, buddy."

Sam felt Dean's hand on his shoulder. He awoke with a start. They had been watching television. Actually, Dean was watching TV while Sam was reading.

The teen inhaled a shaky breath to calm his racing heart. "Dreams aren't real," he whispered. "They can't hurt me."

"That's right, Sammy." His brother rubbed a circle on his back.

Sam sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Dean was always there willing to rush in and rescue his little brother from whatever thing was starring as the feature monster of the night. Every time Sam got caught in one of the nightmares, Dean's voice would lead him away from the melee into the comfortable safety of their rundown apartment or cheap motel.

"Fire dream?" Dean gestured with his hand for Sam to make some room on the couch.

Sam nodded. The fire dreams started five years ago. Sam would awake to find himself in his brother's arms. Dean would rock him; sing to him, anything to soothe the misery. As Sam got older the embraces were replaced by a hand on the shoulder or an arm casually draped across him

But no matter how condensed, Sam counted on it.

"This about the trip tomorrow, Sammy?" Dean questioned.

"Maybe." It was embarrassing to admit. Sam was thirteen for cripes sake! He'd be a freshman in high school next year. Leaving home for four nights should not be the cause for nightmares.

In all fairness, Sam rarely did anything by himself. He could blame all of this on his father. John Winchester had strict rules about where his sons went, and who they went with. Sam had been protected and sheltered his entire life. If it wasn't his father or brother, it was their adopted 'hunting' family. He was the baby. "But I can't wait to spend some time with my friends."

That was true. He didn't have many opportunities to socialize. The invites from 'normal' kids were few; considering he rarely stayed in one school long enough to make many friends,

"Yeah, they going to chicken out of the panty raid?" Dean snorted.

"You're just jealous that I have friends." This year had been different since his family had remained in West Virginia after the Christmas break. Sam had the taken the chance to get close to a few kids; his brother had not. Even the guys on Dean's baseball team were held at usual length.

"I have friends-the right kind." Dean raised his eyebrows up and down.

"Right." Sam shook his head. "Caleb and his hardhat buddies. You're just lucky Dad hasn't seen that fake ID."

"You're just lucky that the hunt got drawn out and Caleb had a project nearby. It's the only reason Dad stuck around."

John had taken a real job working with TriCorp Construction. TriCorp was owned by Caleb Reaves, a member of their close hunting family. Dean and Sam attended Middlesburrow High, a small 7-12 comprehensive school, for the entire spring term.

Dean slapped Sam's leg and stood up. "You all packed up?"

Sam was leaving for Camp Cedar Creek in the morning. Cedar Creek was a camp built for experiential learning. There would be caving, kayaking, snorkeling, hiking and other camping stuff intertwined with lessons on geology, geography, astronomy and even math. "Yeah, pretty much."

"You bringing any contraband? Want a Playboy in case you're bored?" The seventeen year old asked.

"No, I'll be too busy."

"Hope it's worth it." Dean had convinced their father to allow Sam to go after a rare argument between the two. He had teased Sam mercilessly about the teachers tricking them with a reward trip which was actually more outside classroom than theme park. But, Dean had signed the permission slip on their way to school, and forked over the thirty dollar fee.

"It'll be worth it." Sam had pretended not to notice Dean didn't eat lunch for the next two weeks.

Dean rolled his eyes."Yeah, a cabin with Cody Slagle and Shelton Ayers. That's my dream come true."

Sam was tired of the joking insults. He was already growing nervous, fearful of having a nightmare while he was away. The night was when bad things came. And even though Sam's thirteen year old mind screamed at him that he was being ridiculous, he couldn't easily dismiss the five-year-old inside who was terrified by the thoughts of going to sleep without Dean. "Whatever. Hand me the remote."

"Make me." Dean dangled the remote control above Sam's head. The thirteen year old tried to grasp it, and instead fell forward resulting in an impromptu wrestling match. Sam felt Dean's arm snake around his neck and tried to buck Dean off of him, but it was too late.

Sam tapped out, and Dean released him from the choke hold. The teen rolled away with more than his pride being hurt as Dean stood, cradling the remote control.

"I hate you." Sam meant he hated the invisible link that bound the brothers. It was an anchor marring him to a lifestyle stifling him more each day that passed. The younger Winchester saw the hurt flash through Dean's green eyes. "I wish I didn't have a brother. That you were never born."

Sam waited for the wisecracking comment. It never came. Dean dropped the remote in his brother's lap and left the room. And just like that Sam felt a give in the steel band. Maybe he could stand on his own.

The next morning Sam awoke late and scurried to gather all his things before Shelton's dad arrived. He slipped on his sneakers as he heard the car beeping outside.

Dean was waiting for him. "Take care of yourself, Sammy."

The thirteen-year-old ignored his older brother. He had found his independence however small and temporary and wasn't willing to risk losing it. Sam closed the door between them without even so much as a goodbye.

—RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Two nights later, Sam got his payback in the form of exactly what he was trying to escape-a nightmare. This nightmare wasn't about his familiar foe, the fire monster. It was about his hero. It was about Dean.

_Sam ran through the forest, his tennis shoes striking the hard ground with such force he could feel the vibration in every taunt muscle in his body. It was dark out. The teen found himself wondering why he was alone in the night. _

_After all, his father had rules. _

_But quickly Sam found himself in familiar surrounding. He pulled to an abrupt halt at the cave he and his friends had explored on their first day at Cedar Creek._

_Thankfully, a bright spring moon illuminated the teen's path as he was drawn towards the dark entrance. Sam was amazed to find himself magically transported inside the opening with a torch in hand. _

_His feet seemed to have a life of their own as they guided him deeper and deeper into the narrow passages. He was startled when the floor fell from beneath him and he plummeted into the cavernous darkness below. _

_The punishing end to the journey didn't come. The sudden sensation of falling halted and Sam found himself on his feet in a lighted room. Glancing around, he noticed the cages first. _

_Crude wooden constructed boxes of boards and tree limbs lined the walls and were stacked two high in some places. In the sparse light Sam could see the small bodies hunkered in the confines, staring at him like dogs at an animal shelter. _

_He made a move towards one cage where a little boy sat crying, but recoiled quickly when a voice spoke to him. _

"_Sammy? You with me?"_

"_Dean?" _

_Sam whirled around holding the torch out in front of him. He took a step back when the flame illuminated the broken form of his brother._

_"It's me. I'm here," the older teen whispered._

_Dean was chained to a far wall, barely holding himself up. His face was bruised and bloodied. What was most disturbing was the massive bruising on one side of Dean's forehead. _

"_Dean?" Sam tried to take a step forward but found himself glued to the spot several feet from his brother. "Are you okay?"_

"_I thought you weren't talking to me anymore?" _

_Sam rolled his eyes at the stupid reply. "What are you doing here? What's wrong?"_

"_You tell me." Dean laughed, but then groaned in pain and closed his eyes as if he instantly regretted the action. _

_Sam struggled once more without success to reach his injured brother. "Dean, I can't move."_

"_Don't look at me, little brother. I'm kind of tied up at the moment."_

"_Are you hurt badly?"_

"_Words can't hurt me, Sammy."_

_Sam frowned, wishing like hell he could move an inch closer to get a better look at Dean. He obviously had a serious head wound. "Dean. I'm sorry. I can't help you."_

"_That's okay, Sammy. This works out better for you. Now you won't have a brother."_

"_What? That's not funny, Dean."_

"_Sure it is. You just don't know it yet."_

_Before Sam could reply he heard a noise in the distance-heavy footsteps coming from deeper within the room. Then he heard growling, rumbling or maybe laughter. _

"_Dean. We have to get out of here. Something's coming." _

"_It's something bad, Sammy." Dean's face took on a serious look. "You need to get away from me."_

"_I'm not leaving you."_

"_You already did."_

"_No!" Sam shook his head, furious at his uncooperative body. "Dean!" he screamed. The hulking shadow moved along the edges of the darkness, drawing nearer to his brother. "Dean! Please." Sam could feel panic taking hold of him._

_Dean looked up, blood glistening on his face in the firelight. "Don't cry, Sammy. It's just a dream."_

"_No!" _

_Dean smiled sadly as Sam watched the blackness creep closer to his helpless brother. "Wake up, Sammy. Just wake up. And this will all be over."_

"_Dean! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." _

_A massive claw inched into the flickering light, slowly reaching for Dean. "You'll be okay. Dreams can't hurt you. I promise."_

"_Please! Dean-don't leave me."_

_Hideous fingers curled around Dean's throat, tightening menacingly and tearing his last words from him. "Wake up, Sam!" _

"Wake up, Sam!" Cody Slagle shook the unresponsive teen on the bottom bunk and tried not to panic as his friend continued to struggle against the confines of the blanket. "Come on, man. You're dreaming."

Sam shot up in the middle of the bed, nearly banging his head on the top bunk.

"Dude, relax!" Shelton Ayers groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he hung over from above the other two boys. "Normal people are trying to sleep."

"Shut up, Shelton." Cody growled and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam? You okay?"

"Dean?" Sam whispered, disoriented. He desperately needed to hear his brother's voice, or feel his touch to reassure himself it had been a nightmare.

"It's Cody."

Sam turned his head, blinked rapidly and struggled to put the pieces together. He sighed when he made out the concerned blue eyes and sleep tousled dark curls of his friend and classmate. "Cody?"

"Yeah. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, the freak's fine." Shelton grumbled from above them. "Now stop your yakking and go the fuck to bed."

Cody ignored the other teen and looked at Sam. "You were screaming."

_Great. _Sam ran a hand through his hair and nodded. "Sorry. Bad dream."

"That was some dream." Cody frowned and pushed his glassed from their skewed position. "I couldn't get you to wake up."

"Dang it, Cody!" Shelton hung off the top bunk again. "So Winchester has nightmares like a girl. Give it a rest and let me get some sleep."

"You were calling out for your brother." Cody continued to watch Sam in the intense way that had earned him the nickname of Owl.

Sam groaned. It was very uncool to wake up needing your big brother, but calling out his name was so far into geek territory Sam would never register on the coolness meter again. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Shelton glared at him. "Sounds like somebody wants his mommy."

"Fuck you, Ayers!" Sam snarled. The other boy laughed; obviously pleased he'd pushed Sam's buttons.

"Wait until I tell Kelley. She won't be drooling all over you tomorrow."

"And wait until I tell her that you had to sleep in plastic shorts until you were ten," Cody shot back. He glanced at Sam. "Nobody would invite him to sleepovers."

"Shut up, Owl!"

Cody grinned and sat down on Sam's bed. "I used to have nightmares. Awful ones about huge bugs and grotesque spiders."

Sam swallowed hard, wishing he'd dream about such things. "Yeah?"

Cody nodded. "Was your brother being eaten by a zombie or something?"

The boys had been discussing the movie _Dawn of the Dead _before going to bed. "No. I don't really remember what it was about."

"It must have been pretty bad."

Bad didn't begin to describe it. Sam needed only to close his eyes to recapture the terrifying scene. His brother looked hurt and in so much pain. Just thinking about it made Sam sick. "I need to call home." He needed to hear Dean's voice-had to, in fact.

"What?" Cody frowned. "It's like two in the morning, Sam."

"I don't care." Sam tossed the covers aside, and slung his legs over the bunk. "I need to find Mr. Taylor."

"Oh that should be fun to watch." Shelton laughed. "Taylor will put you in detention for a week if you wake him up because little Sammy had a bad dream."

Cody stood and allowed room for Sam to do the same. "I think he's in Cabin Hemlock. It's about two down from us."

Shelton rose up on one elbow and peered down at Sam. "Seriously, Winchester, you need to get a grip. He's a cool guy, but he's still a teacher."

"As much as I hate to admit that Shelton is right, Sam, he is. Mr. Taylor won't like you waking him up. We're not supposed to leave the cabins after lights out."

Sam grabbed his jeans from the footlocker that was at the bottom of the bed and quickly slipped them on. "I'll tell him I'm sick."

"Maybe if you just go back to sleep, you'll forget about it. We have the kayak race tomorrow. Remember?"

Sam considered it, but then shook his head, the pain written on Dean's face still too fresh in his memory. He didn't give a shit about how he looked to his friends. "I have to talk to my brother."

Cody studied him for a moment, nodded and went to his bunk across the way to retrieve a flashlight. "Then I'll come with you."

"You guys are so busted," Shelton mumbled from the top bunk again before surprising both boys by jumping down, and shaking himself like a wet dog just done with a bath. "But if anyone is getting in trouble," he raked his hands through his shaggy blond hair, "it's at least going to be the cool kid in the cabin." He grabbed the flashlight from Cody and turned it on. "Try not to trip over your own feet, Slagle."

Sam watched the other two boys lead the way out of the cabin. He said a quick prayer he'd end up not only being ridiculed by Shelton for the rest of the year, but being teased mercilessly by his big brother for calling home. Then Sam's nightmare was just that-a nightmare. All of this worry would be the teen's unconscious way of dealing with the guilt of being a dick to his brother for his own selfish reasons. And Sam could live with that.

But as he stepped out into the dark forest, and noticed the bright hunter's moon hanging above him, he knew things wouldn't work out the way he wanted them to. And he might end up getting the wish he'd so viciously tossed at Dean. Sam was terrified he would lose his brother. Maybe, he'd already lost him.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Shelton had been right. Mr. Taylor wasn't happy to see the three boys when one of the other campers finally managed to rouse him. He was less enthused when he discovered the time.

But he'd taken one look at the pale and shaky form of the thirteen-year-old practically begging to call home and had taken pity on him. Taylor White still hadn't quite figured out Sam Winchester. The boy was brilliant, obviously gifted, but slow to express himself in class. He had been hesitant about the trip in the beginning and Taylor had pushed slightly, encouraging the teen to come, even eliciting the boy's older brother to help. It seemed to be a good idea after watching Sam come out of his shell over the last two days, but now Taylor was worried he'd misjudged the situation.

He liked Sam and something about his quiet nature and unsure vulnerability had the educator's protective instincts kicking in. And seeing the boy so upset now only increased his desire to help.

"This is it, Sam." Taylor unlocked the camp director's office and fought off a wide yawn. "I know there's a phone in here somewhere."

The teacher had sent Cody and Shelton back to their own cabin much to the teens dislike. But, he'd gotten the idea Sam was relieved not to be on the receiving end of Cody's genuine concern and Shelton's snide comments about being homesick.

"Let's just hope it works, unlike the hot water in the showers."

Sam entered the small building, blinking as the older man turned on the lights. "Thanks for letting me call, Mr. Taylor. I know it's really late."

Taylor shut the door behind them. "No problem, Sam." The teacher motioned to a large oak desk in the corner. "The phone's probably on the desk. I'll just wait over there," he pointed to a leather chair by the fireplace, "in case your family needs to speak to me."

Sam nodded; thankful the man was trying to offer him some privacy. "Okay."

Taylor moved to the recliner, sank down in its worn softness and watched the teen hesitantly pick up the phone. Taylor had met only one member of Sam's family- his brother, Dean. The older boy was a junior at Middlesboro. Well known for his ability on the baseball field. He registered Sam and had attended the one and only meeting about Sam's progress. It was unusual, but Dean seemed genuinely interested in Sam's work. Kids could accomplish amazing things with just one person in their corner.

When Sam did mention his life outside of school, it usually involved his brother. Although Dean seemed to be Sam's only engaged parental unit, he'd heard talk in the teacher's lounge of a father no one had seemed to have met. So it was surprising enough to draw Taylor's interest when the teen's soft voice carried across the room.

"Dad?" Sam swallowed the lump in his throat as his father answered the phone on the first ring. "It's Sam."

_"Sam? What's wrong?"_

The teen easily picked up on his father's tell-tale sigh-could imagine he wasn't happy by the surprise call. "Where's Dean?"

_"Why are you calling, kiddo?" _

The use of 'kiddo' was Sam's first indication something was wrong. He could almost see his father, raking his hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes. "I had a dream, Dad."

_"What kind of dream, Sammy?"_

"A nightmare." The fact that his father wasn't chewing him out for the outrageous hour or condemning the trace of fear Sam knew damn well the man could hear in his voice only confirmed his dire dread.

_"Was your brother in the dream?"_

Sam's grip tightened on the phone as his fear increased. Why would his father ask him that? John rarely ever asked about his son's dreams, choosing to pretend they didn't exist, or even worse that they were normal. "Dad-where's Dean?"

There was a long, painful silence before he heard the defeated exhale of breath.

_"I don't know."_

"What do you mean you don't know? Isn't he with you? Why isn't he home?"

_"Your brother disappeared while we were on a hunt tonight."_

"What?" Sam's raised voice had Mr. Taylor glancing his way. The teen turned his back to the teacher, closed his eyes and willed himself to stay calm. "Why aren't you out looking for him? Where's Caleb?"

_"Damn it, Sammy. Caleb and I have been searching the area for hours. We had to regroup and come up with a plan."_

"Regroup?" Sam said the word like it was a slur. "Dean's hurt," he whispered harshly into the phone.

"_How do you know that, son? What did you see?_"

"Come get me, Dad."

_"Samuel? What the hell did you dream about?"_

"I'll tell you everything when you get here."

_"Sam-you need to stay where you are. I don't need to worry about you on top of all this. You know how many kids have disappeared in this area."_

Of course Sam knew. And so did Dean. His brother had been particularly interested in this hunt. "I have to help."

_"Listen to me, Sammy…"_

"No. You listen to me, Dad. Come and get me. Now. Or I'll start walking. I swear I will." Sam knew the threat of him alone in the woods that had claimed a disproportionate amount of young children would sway things in his favor.

There was a long silence and Sam suddenly got the meaning of 'pregnant pause'. _"I don't even know where you are."_

It sounded like his father was in confessional at Pastor Jim's church, confessing his latest sin. The lump returned to Sam's throat and his eyes stung. John didn't know where his son was. Dean had signed the permission slip. Dean had listened to him talk about the trip for weeks. He had even written down instructions for Sam and Shelton on the proper way to perform a stupid panty raid on the girl's cabin. Dean, his older brother, who Sam had been horrible to, was missing.

_"Sam?" _

John's voice was full of emotion, although Sam didn't recognize the specific feeling. He hoped it was guilt for having the audacity to not know the location of his children.

_"Did you hear me?"_

"Caleb knows where I am. Dean left the directions and the other information on the refrigerator door." Sam hoped his father picked up on the sarcasm in his voice.

_"I'll be there as soon as I can."_

Sam continued to hold the phone long after his father hung up, the empty silence blocked out the little reprimanding voice in the teen's head. The hand on his shoulder caused him to jump and he nearly dropped the receiver.

"Hey? Is everything okay?"

The teen hadn't heard the teacher cross the room. Taylor was right beside him, looking at Sam with a familiar concern. The usually well-groomed man was in a ratty Metallica T-shirt and sweats. Sam was filled with the overwhelming desire to cry. It wasn't the first time the young teacher had reminded the teen of Dean. But the man's typical refined dress and love of mathematic equations usually kept the comparisons at bay.

"Yeah," Sam forced the word out. He carefully replaced the phone, quickly rubbed his eyes, hoping there were no traces of the emotions raging through him.

"Are you sure?" Mr. Taylor smiled. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Sam shook his head. "I don't believe in ghosts."

"Maybe I should have stayed in your cabin, then. The boys that I'm rooming with had me pretty freaked out with their tales of spectral encounters. Seems these woods are famous for disappearances."

Sam licked his dry lips and wondered how the teacher would respond if he told him some of the facts he knew about Middlesboro, West Virginia. Sam had done most of the research for Caleb and his father. He imagined how the man would look at him as he told him his seventeen-year-old brother had vanished into thin air while out hunting a Raw head with their ghost busting father. "My group likes zombies," he offered.

Mr. Taylor shivered. "The walking dead flesh eaters? I think I was better off with the Hookman and Big Foot theories."

When Sam glanced up at the clock, Taylor got the impression a change in subject was due. "So, is Dean coming to get you?"

"No. He's not."

The pain that flashed through the teen's eyes was unmistakable. The teacher had to resist the urge to reach out and put a hand on the boy's thin shoulder. Some boys, kids in general, didn't like to be touched especially when they were at the cruel age where the lines between childhood and the struggle to be adult blurred.

"I just assumed he'd be the one, seeing as how he seems to look out for you."

"Yeah." Sam could feel the stinging again and wished the man wasn't looking at him with such understanding. "He takes care of me."

"I understand that. I have an older brother." Taylor grinned. "He's usually a pain in my a…_side_, thinks he knows everything, and just had to one up me by becoming a doctor of all things. The M.D. kind, to beat it all. But most of the time, he's not too bad to have around. Actually, I miss him when he's not."

"Do you ever hate that?"

Taylor tilted his head slightly and frowned at the teen's soft-spoken inquiry. "What? That I like him? Or that I completely idolize the stupid jerk even though I wish like heck that I didn't?"

Sam's brown eyes widened almost comically in the way any teenagers did when an adult came remotely close to voicing what they were thinking or feeling.

The thirteen-year-old nodded, stunned speechless, so Taylor continued. "You bet. Sometimes I even wished that I never had a brother, especially one that cast such a long shadow."

"Did you ever…" Sam bit his lip, fighting hard to keep it together. "You know? Do something you wish that you hadn't because of it?"

"Like what?" Taylor crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk.

The teen hesitated. "Like…telling him you hated him?" Sam glanced down at his shoes and then back up. "Like you wished he would leave and never come back?"

"Maybe only a hundred times." Taylor felt bad when Sam didn't smile at his joke, but rather looked even more distraught.

"I didn't mean it." Sam's breath hitched. He clenched his fists in anger, trying to control the torrent of remorse bubbling up from inside him. "I didn't want anything bad to happen to him."

"Hey," Taylor said softly, completely surprised the boy was getting upset. "Of course you didn't mean it. Sam, people say things they don't mean all of the time. That's just human nature. That's why God invented Hallmark."

Again, the joke went bust.

"But he didn't deserve it. He's never done anything to me except take care of me, and watch out for me. I was just so pissed at him…or at myself…for needing him so much."

"Brother's fight, Sam. Sometimes it's a love/hate thing, you know." Taylor took a chance, reached out and squeezed the teen's shoulder. "Just wait until your first girlfriend falls in love with him. You'll probably even end up decking him a few times before one of you leaves the house. Trust me."

Sam sniffed. "We don't usually fight. Not me and Dean, anyway."

Taylor took that to mean maybe Sam and other members of his family didn't fair so well. "Parents can be a whole other story at your age."

"There's just my dad. And Dean. Besides a few uncles, they're the only family that I have."

Taylor had suspected there wasn't a Mrs. Winchester in the picture. Kids missing that influence weren't hard to spot. "Was your dad upset with you for calling home?" The teacher wondered if that was the reason Sam was worked up.

Sam didn't appear the typical abused child. Taylor had seen enough of those in his short career to pick up on clues. Even though Sam could be quiet and withdrawn, the teacher had no reason to think badly about the kid's parent. Sam's stress only increased after talking to his father on the phone.

"He was just in the middle of something." Sam decided not to mention that his dad hadn't wanted him to come on the stupid trip in the first place. "He doesn't like to be disturbed."

"Was he sleeping?" Taylor smiled again. "Because I can understand not liking to lose out on that precious commodity. We old folks need our eight hours."

"He wasn't sleeping."

_Drinking? _Taylor hoped like hell the man wasn't a drunk. It would fit the whole absent parent scenario, but for Sam and Dean's sake he prayed for a better explanation. "Sam, I'll have to talk to your dad in person before you can leave. Alright?" The boy wasn't going anywhere if his old man wasn't sober.

"Okay."

Taylor took a deep breath and tried to let go of some of his own worry. "So, Dean isn't coming to get you because of the fight you two had. Right?"

Sam shook his head. "No. He's not home. Dean would come and get me if he could."

"He's out late." Taylor noted with a raised brow.

Sam nodded, his eyes filling. "I'm afraid he's in trouble." He wasn't sure why the words tumbled out. He wasn't supposed to talk to strangers about family stuff.

Taylor frowned. "What makes you think that, Sam?"

The boy shrugged. "It's just a feeling."

"Could be that you're just _feeling _a little guilty about what you said."

Sam stared at him, wishing that was all it was. He had desperately hoped the dream was just another nightmare, but it had felt different than the usual ones. The disconnected feeling was his first clue. The experience was like watching a terrible movie he couldn't turn off. "No. I just know something's wrong."

"Like what?"

"I can't explain it."

"Dean seems like the type to handle himself pretty well."

"Most of the time."

"Then I'm sure he's fine. He's not the first seventeen-year-old to pull a late-nighter."

Sam looked at him.

"Not that I'm condoning it, mind you. But I'm not so far removed from that age that I can't remember what it was like. Does Dean have a girlfriend?"

Sam snorted, despite himself. "To hear him tell it-lots."

Taylor grinned. "That's probably it then, Sam. Women can make us guys do some pretty stupid things. Trust me."

"I guess." Sam had seen his brother act like an idiot because of a girl on several occasions. Sometimes it was all he and Caleb talked about. But unless the Raw head had a mate, Sam was pretty sure no female influence was involved in this latest disaster.

"He might even beat you and your dad back home."

"Yeah." God, Sam wished that would be true.

"And then you guys can work things out."

"I hope so."

The kid sounded so doubtful and downhearted that Taylor would have said almost anything to make things right. "I bet Dean understands where you're coming from. He's been your age."

Sam shook his head, remembering the look on his brother's face when they had argued, and the way Dean had been broken and bloodied in his nightmare. "I was horrible to him."

"Sometimes we hurt people, Sam. Sometimes it's the people we love the most."

Sam recalled the moments leading up to his and Dean's fight. "But I _wanted_ to hurt him. I was glad I did." A hot tear escaped his lashes and slipped down his cheek. He wanted to crawl under the table and hide. "I just wanted him to go away."

"I get that, Sam." Taylor nodded. "Big brother's can have a way of forgetting that their baby brothers aren't actual _babies. _Sometimes it can be smothering."

"Sometimes I feel like I can't even breathe on my own." Sam wiped at his eyes. "I just want to do my own thing. To be able to take care of myself."

"That's not a crime, son."

"In my family it is."

"Your family probably wants to protect you. To keep you safe."

"The only time I feel safe is with Dean." And that was the _real_ problem. "And I don't know how to change that."

"I don't think you can change that, Sam." Taylor sighed and shoved his hands through his sleep-tousled wavy hair. "I mean, sure, you'll get older and you won't need your big brother as much, but I can tell you from experience, there are times when I still need _my_ big brother to protect me from whatever terrible thing life is throwing at me. Sometimes, he's the only one who can make me feel right again."

"But I pushed him away, and now it's too late."

"Sam, I don't know what's going on that makes you think that something's happened to Dean, but I've seen how he is around you. I'm willing to bet that it will never be too late to fix things with him. I'm guessing he'd pretty much forgive you for anything, whether you felt you deserved it or not."

"I don't know what I'd do without him."

Taylor nodded. "The feeling is probably mutual."

Sam took a shaky breath and let it out. "Not lately."

"I don't know about that." Taylor smiled. "I'm pretty sure Dean could probably have taken you out if he'd really wanted to. I hear he's got one hell of a swing."

Sam's brow furrowed. Taylor made a swinging motion with his arms as if he were wielding an invisible baseball bat. "Coach Miller has bragged about his prowess on the field."

"They're in the regional tournament," Sam said softly, thinking about how he'd totally forgotten. He'd been so proud of Dean for making the team, for becoming one of the standouts. But he'd never told him.

"So I've heard."

Sam only hoped his brother would get the chance to play. "You really think Dean will understand why I've been such a pain?"

Taylor nodded. "Even if he doesn't totally _get_ it, he'll still let you get _away_ with it. That's pretty much how it is with older brothers. I think it's in their DNA or something. They have to love us kid brothers, no matter how bratty we are."

"Lucky for us."

The teacher sighed. "Yeah. Lucky for us."

Sam glanced at the clock on the wall again. "Is it okay if I go to the cabin and get my things? Dad should be here soon." The only thing Sam wanted to do now was find his big brother. The rest could be taken care of after Dean was safe.

"Yeah, okay. I'll take you over." Taylor motioned towards the door. "I'm pretty sure Dean would never forgive me if I let you get taken by some dead thing wandering about."

Sam tried to ignore the irony and stepped out into the cool night air.

Taylor joined him, pushing the screened door closed behind them. He glanced at Sam, and raised a brow. "Besides, I heard talk that a massive panty raid took place last night, and I wouldn't want an innocent to get caught in the crossfire when the girls seek their revenge." He shook his head in resigned pity. "I hear they are going to strike right before dawn and that your buddy Shelton is in big trouble."

Sam's face registered his surprise but he quickly tried to cover, and in his best Dean Winchester voice said, "What's a panty raid?"

Mr. Taylor clasped him on the shoulder and laughed. "Oh, yeah. I do like your style, Sam Winchester. I like it a lot."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

A/N: There will be more noticeable changes in the coming chapters, guys. I promised several readers that the crux of the story will stay the same and it will. Mostly we're just adding and spicing it up and revamping Caleb and Mac a bit to match their present day selves. I hope you liked it. It's actually been a lot of fun. Tidia has contributed so much and I appreciate it. I am working on Paper Tiger (the new title) which is the Prologue for To the Victor Goes the Spoils. The first chapter is done and edited thanks to Ti, and the second is coming along. Hopefully it will be ready soon. Send 'museful' thoughts my way. And if you haven't checked out TheHuntersTomb, you need to. Sensue and Tidia have done an awesome job. You can post your fic-which does not have to be Brotherhood related- and other cool stuff. There are videos and artwork. Someone asked if The Brotherhood AU was open, meaning others could write in it. It is definitely open. Feel free. We only reserve the right to keep our time-line within our own stories. Hope everyone is having an awesome summer! Ridley


	2. Chapter 2

Heroes –Revisited

Chapter 2

_"Real heroes are men who fall and fail and are flawed, but win out in the end because they've stayed true to their ideals and beliefs and commitments."_

_--Kevin Costner_

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

On a positive note John Winchester wasn't drunk as Taylor had feared. He seemed insanely alert and focused for the ungodly hour of 3:45 A.M., which gave the teacher another reason not to trust him.

Physically, Sam's dad was an imposing man. He was taller than Taylor's own six foot stature with shoulders and arms that spoke of either hard manual labor or hours at the gym. Taylor guessed it was the former.

His youngest son had inherited his father's dark, soulful eyes and Taylor imagined if John Winchester were to smile, it would also be similar.

Something about the way he carried himself was familiar from the time or two Taylor had spoken with Dean. The younger man had a laid back demeanor, but his father strummed with barely contained tension. He had an air of definite authority. Taylor found himself curious about what the man did for a living.

"I'm sorry about all this." Winchester's voice was deep and serious. Taylor found himself flinching as the man laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "He's not used to staying away from home."

Sam didn't blink, so Taylor tried to push away his suspicions of abuse. "No problem." The teacher stood straighter to feel professional, or at least look like an adult in his sleep garb. "Sam's a good kid."

"He is." John nodded. "Minus the stubborn streak."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dad-this is Mr. Taylor. He teaches math."

John removed his hand from his son's shoulder and extended it in the younger man's direction. "John Winchester."

"It's good to finally meet you." Taylor returned the firm shake, and made sure not to wince. He knew better than to show any weakness while facing a pack of hormone driven teens, it was the same with parents. He wondered if he could somehow slip the fact he'd played college ball into the conversation without looking like he was trying too hard. "I just hate it has to be in the middle of nowhere on vampire time, no less."

John gave his son a confused glance before looking back at Taylor.

The teacher grinned sheepishly. "We've had our share of ghost stories these last couple of days," Taylor explained as the man continued to look at him as if trying to decide if his son was getting the proper education. Apparently, Sam had gotten his sense of humor from his father.

"I see." John nodded, his hand returning to Sam's shoulder and giving it a marginal squeeze.

Sam licked his lips and shot Taylor a somewhat nervous glance. "I've got all my things, Dad."

The big man looked down at his son once more, then to Taylor. "We'll be going then." John ran his eyes up and down the other man, appraisingly, "so you can get back to sleep."

"Not much chance of that. I have to stand guard." Taylor attempted to appear very serious. "Panty raid got out of hand last night. There's potential for a revenge attack-real possibility of a bloodbath."

John rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Teenage girls are pretty scary."

"Yeah." Taylor forced a smile, unsure if he actually heard the condescension. "I have the scars to prove that."

When both Sam and his dad frowned, Taylor rushed on. "So-guess I'll see you at school on Monday, Sam. Make sure you study for that quiz."

"Okay." Sam turned, walked towards the door followed by his father, but stopped when Mr. Taylor called out to him.

"I hope things are okay with Dean."

Sam could feel his father's gaze on him. He faced Mr. Taylor and nodded. "Me too."

John surprised his son by not asking what he'd told the teacher about Dean. And Sam was not ready to engage in conversation with his father. The walk to the truck was silent. Only the sounds of the crickets and other nocturnal stirrings provided a backdrop to the steady breathing of the two Winchesters maneuvering down the dirt path.

Sam didn't hesitate once he caught sight of his father's black Chevy truck. He picked up speed and tossed his bags in the bed. The passenger door suddenly opened and the tall, lanky form of Caleb Reaves stepped out, motioning for Sam to get in.

"Sammy," Caleb said softly as the boy glared at him, before sliding across the leather bench seat.

Caleb Reaves had always protected the boys, or tried too. The long haired hunter had been a presence in their lives since Sam could remember. His first memories of Caleb were at Pastor Jim's farm where the young hunter would draw him pictures of mythical animals and play with both brothers. The Winchesters watched as Caleb grew into his strong psychic abilities and into a fearless hunter of The Brotherhood. John was a mentor to him, so Caleb spent many long summers and holidays training with the boys. Both Sam and Dean looked up to him, although Dean would be pressed to admit it. Dean and Caleb had issues with revealing their emotions instead calling each other Deuce and Damien, respectively. But Sam never doubted that Caleb had his brother's back- he would do anything to keep Dean safe. "Where the hell were you, Caleb?"

"Sam," John warned. He had already loaded an unfair share of blame on the younger hunter's shoulders.

"What?" Caleb turned to look at the teen as he joined him in the truck and slammed the door.

Sam ignored his father's warning tone, focusing on Caleb instead. "I said where were you? You're his best friend. You're supposed to cover him. He doesn't have a ring and you do! So where the hell were you when my brother was being dragged off by that thing?" Sam was angry, and wanted to lash out at someone. Caleb was the perfect patsy.

Caleb opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. His gold eyes met Sam's brown ones and the thirteen-year-old could see the psychic was feeling guilty. "It happened fast, Sammy. One minute he was there, and the next. . .I promise we'll get him back, Runt."

Sam shook his head. "You promised to watch his back too. He trusted you." _I trusted you. _

"I _was_ watching Deuce's back! You know better than that Sam." Caleb took a deep breath and shoved his hands through his long, black hair hanging loose around his shoulders instead of being in its usual neat pony tail. Reaves knew he had failed the seventeen year old. He would make it right. He tried to reason with the youngest Winchester and used a hint of humor. "You know your brother; he thinks a plan is only a suggestion. He just took off."

"Don't talk about my brother!" Sam shouted, clenching his fists. Sam knew his brother was always trying to be a hero so he wouldn't risk anyone that mattered to him. But he was still Sam's big brother, and nobody was going to talk badly about him, even if what they were saying was a little bit true. Not even Caleb. "This isn't his fault!"

"It's not Caleb's fault either, Sammy," John said softly, bringing twin gazes to his silhouetted profile. "I screwed up. All right?"

Sam redirected his focus. "How could you let that thing take him, Dad?" Sam felt his voice break. "You know what raw heads do."

John glanced at his son, and then met Caleb's gaze over the boy. "I know, son. We'll get him back. I promise."

At that moment promises meant nothing to Sam. Especially ones made by his father. He sent an accusing glare towards Caleb again. "Yeah, because you two have had so much luck catching it before now."

Caleb sighed. It was taking longer than usual. His architectural company TriCorp had been working in the area on a bridge project when he first heard the rumors about the forest. It wasn't long before his psychic abilities clued him in with a couple of horrific visions that left him desperate to find the creature.

John had given some initial seed money into the company, and since it was a longer contract he asked the older Winchester to work for him. The lure of a good hunt persuaded John and allowed Caleb to provide his mentor with a steady paycheck and stable situation for the boys without stepping on any toes.

Caleb had been spending quite a bit of time with the Winchesters, and right now he missed Dean. Dean was always able to make things right with Sam-a feat that had been made incredibly difficult for anyone else since Sam hit puberty. Still, Dean would be pissed if he didn't try. "I'm sorry." Reaves placed an arm tentatively around Sam's shoulder.

Caleb was surprised it wasn't brushed off by the teen. "Johnny said that you had a dream. Can you tell us about it?"

John was watching the road, but Sam knew from his expression he was waiting for a reply.

"It was just a nightmare."

John glanced at him. "You wouldn't be here if that were true."

Sam closed his eyes, feeling a slight twinge of a building headache as he recalled the mosaic images of the dream. "I was in the woods. Running. And then I was in a big cave of some sorts."

"Cave?" Caleb interrupted and Sam blinked. "That makes sense, seeing as how we haven't come up with anything in those abandoned houses or at any of the hiking shelters."

"Go on, Sam," John encouraged.

The teen didn't know whether to be pleased or worried that his father was taking his nightmare seriously, but he continued on. "Like I said, I was in a cave, and then I fell -like through the ground."

"So, there was a cave, and then you fell through an opening. And there were kids there?" Caleb's psychic visions came from the perspective of the evil being. He had seen the two boys in cages, but was unable to comprehend a location for them.

"Yeah." Sam held Caleb's gaze. "I saw at least two. Boys."

"The Patterson boys." Caleb offered, sincerely.

John nodded, keeping watch for the road sign he was searching for.

Sam was surprised the two men were interpreting his dream so literally. After all, dreams weren't real. A part of Sam still believed the nightmare had more to do with his and Dean's recent fight, instead of his brother's disappearance. "Dad, my dream might not mean anything."

Caleb squeezed the young man's shoulder.

"You said your brother was hurt?" John took his eyes off the road long enough to see the color drain from his son's face. "We found your brother's shirt. There was blood on it and we also found his gun."

Sam couldn't help the tremor that shook his body as if a shadow had crossed his grave. "How much blood?"

"Enough."

"Johnny," Caleb warned. John vacillated between keeping too much from Sam to revealing more than necessary. Winchester's lifestyle didn't provide much safe common ground. "He's fine, Sam." Reaves didn't admit to the teen he had seen glimpses of Dean chained to a wall, obviously injured. He had shared the information with John and that was hard enough. "Yourdream might be some kind of communication, like we used to do when you were a kid."

"It was different than most of my dreams, " Sam admitted.

"Different how?" Reaves asked. His adopted father, Mackland Ames, had helped him with his abilities when they first became active. Caleb had been Sam's age. The renowned neurosurgeon believed Sam also had psychic tendencies, and wanted to help the young boy. Even Caleb could sense Sam's potential, but John wouldn't allow it. And Mackland deferred to John, his friend and brother in arms.

"Like I was watching it from outside my body, even though I was there." Sam frowned. "Your visions are like that. Like a movie."

"Yeah, they are, Sam." Caleb forced a smile, and purposefully did not glance at his mentor.

"Finish telling us the dream, Sammy," John interrupted the conversation between Sam and Caleb.

"Dean was there, near the cages. But he was chained to a wall."

"Black, shiny?" Reaves questioned further.

Sam didn't really see why that was important, but he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to remember. The walls had been made of some kind of rock. "Rocky. Big, grayish, black rocks."

"That's what I've seen." Caleb looked at John, knowing his mentor was probably freaked out by the idea of his youngest son seeing the same things the older psychic had. "I thought it was coal. An old mine shaft. There're a lot of them around this area."

John shook his head. "We ruled that out because of size. You know damn well most of those shafts are small, even for a regular-sized man. My grandfather worked those mines for awhile. It's like living under your kitchen table. A raw head would never choose that for a lair."

"Yeah, but Sam said he fell through a hole. The old raw head might have found one of the underground caverns."

"There was wood lying around my feet." Sam said suddenly as he recalled looking down at his uncooperative legs when they had failed him in the dream. "Planks, I think."

Caleb nodded. "Some of those old mines open up to big tunnels, even have rivers running through them. Just think, if you wanted to hide somewhere no one would expect you, where would you hide, Johnny boy?"

"In a church," Sam answered for his father.

Caleb laughed out loud. "Perfect if it were built on top of a bar."

"While you guys are waiting to take this little comedy act of yours on the road, could we get back to the subject?" John growled, finally pulling them onto the main highway, after what seemed like miles of back roads. "Like how to find Dean?"

"There _was_ a tunnel," Sam added, focusing once more. "The raw head was coming through it. And I heard something like rumbling, or growling. I thought it was a monster, but it could have been flowing water."

"You got more than I got, Sam. I'm only catches glimpses." Caleb pointed out, rubbing Sam's back before removing his hand. "You did good, Runt."

"Was your brother awake?"

Sam's small smile fell as he realized what his father was really asking. "He was alive, Dad. He talked to me."

"Talked to you?" Caleb frowned.

Sam looked at the other man, the sharp angles and lines of his almost perfect face making him look frightening in the dark cab of the truck. "Dean knew I was there. It was like he felt me. "

Caleb scrutinized the teen.

"What? Is that a bad thing?"

Reaves shook his head. "Remember when we were kids and we won at cards?"

Sam nodded. "By cheating because you would send messages to us-psychically."

The twenty-five year old wanted to explain in easy terms to not worry Sam. "You were kids, so you were more open. With Dean, now, it could mean that your brother is very perceptive, sensitive to such things, or he's unconscious."

"Excuse me?" Sam croaked. "Dean was awake. He was hurt, but he didn't look so bad." The words seemed hollow to Sam. Dean had been bleeding. The wound on his head had scared Sam.

"He'll be okay." Caleb squeezed Sam's arm. "We'll find him."

"We can check the maps back at the apartment for any mines in the location where we were hunting tonight." John glanced at Caleb. "We need to drop Sam there anyway."

"What?" Sam turned in his seat. "I'm not staying at the apartment."

"Yes, you are, Samuel."

"I'm going with you to find Dean."

"Damn it!" John shouted. "You will listen to me. I'm not asking you, Sam! I'm giving you…"

"An order?" Sam cut him off, now yelling, "Screw your orders!"

John slammed on the brakes, skidding the truck into the emergency lane, causing both Caleb and Sam to bring their arms out to brace themselves against the dash. John turned, shoved the gear shifter into park, and reached for Sam in one continuous, fluid move. He had his hands wrapped in the teen's jacket before Sam even knew what was happening. "Watch you mouth!" John gave his son a hard shake. "I'm still your father, goddamnit!"

Caleb grabbed John's hands and peeled them off his son's jacket. "Calm down, John." He gave the older man a slight shove to let go. Once John had backed down he wrapped an arm around Sam to protect him.

Sam felt his heart pick up and he was smart enough to be afraid, but the desire to help his brother sliced through his common sense. "I'm going," he said, and cursed the slight tremble in his voice. "With or without you."

"Don't you dare threaten me, son. I let that bullshit slide once, Samuel. I won't do it again."

"I don't care what you do to me," Sam lied, never having been on the receiving end of his father's physical strength. Dean had always protected him from that, among the other countless things. "I'm going to find my brother."

"Sam, Dean wouldn't want that. He wants you to stay safe." Caleb pointed out.

"But I have a connection to Dean that you don't right now. You need me." Sam was not going to stand down.

"No! You will not go after your brother!" John continued to look at Sam, ignoring Caleb's glare. "You will stay at the apartment, even if I have to cuff you to your fucking bed. I can't lose you too, Sammy! Damn it! Don't you understand?"

"Winchester!" Caleb opened the door. "We're taking a breather here." Reaves escorted Sam out of the cab while John fumed in the truck.

"I have to help you find Dean, Caleb. _Please_." He swallowed hard.

Caleb knelt in front of him. "Sammy…your brother would kill me if I let something happen to you. "

"What if I'm your only chance?"

Reaves felt his gut twist. He wanted to find Dean. Desperately needed to know that the kid was alright. His own connection to Dean should have been enough, but nothing about this gig had gone smoothly. Not only couldn't he track the raw, he couldn't even locate Dean. "We'll find another way."

Sam sighed in frustration, pulling away from Reaves. He turned to the truck. "I let him down, Dad. I need to make it up to him."

John nodded and moved down the bench seat. He placed a gentle hand against his son's cheek. "I let him down too, Sammy," John whispered into his youngest son's hair. _I let both of you down. _"We'll just have to be more careful about that in the future. Won't we?" John stressed the 'we' part.

Sam clearly understood his father was aware the thirteen year old had been a brat towards his brother, and it had been completely uncalled for. "Yes, sir." Sam nodded, contrite and remorseful.

"If you two are done, I think Deuce would like to be rescued." Caleb had crossed his arms, unsure of what to make of John's change of heart.

Sam scampered into the cab.

"And Runt, you better listen to me on this hunt."

John and Sam exchanged a look. "Damn, he's bossy. You'll remember you're junior hunter, Reaves."

Caleb cleared his throat, glanced away, and pushed some of his straight, black hair behind his ear. He enjoyed the moment of levity, but he still felt guilty. "I'm sorry that I lost track of Dean. I know you trusted me, Sammy."

"I do trust you, Caleb." Sam forgave the older man. This was Caleb Reaves who would do anything for the Winchesters.

"He's alive. I can feel it." Caleb would know if the seventeen year old had died. "And we'll find him. He's stubborn."

"Dean's a fighter." Sam agreed.

"Yeah, and I owe him ten dollars from our last game of pool." Caleb's devilish grin appeared again, his white teeth flashing even in the dark cab. "He won't let that go."

"I owe him something, too," Sam said, seriously.

Caleb tilted his head, trying to catch the younger boy's gaze. "Yeah? What's that?"

Sam stared past the other man, out into the darkness beyond the passenger window. He swallowed hard. "An apology." The teen blinked a couple of times before finally meeting the older hunter's eyes. "I owe him a very big apology."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

A/N: First, I know I removed a few lines from this part that a couple of you had mentioned as your favorites. Don't worry, I'm hoping to replace them at different parts. They didn't flow well here with the changes. Secondly, we are reworking this story to fix characterizations, not to add more of one character or take away from another. (grin). There was some confusion about that. Thirdly, Thanks so much to everyone who has written about this story and I'm so glad that you all are excited about the upcoming stories. Paper Tiger is coming along. Tidia just edited the second chapter.Woohoo. Now onto the third.

I did have to remove the original of Heroes from my page at FFnet due to some rule about only one copy of an original work being allowed, but we will have the original at The Hunters Tomb. I know some of you asked about that.

And just a side note from me, I don't know if you all have heard the rumors about new characters for the third season or if you feel passionate about it one way or another, but we have the addresses up at The hunter's tomb, if anyone wants to write and express their opinion. I'm concerned only because of the whole 'regulars' comment, and the idea it might take away from the brothers and then there is the whole 'Jo' fiasco and the NO Exit episode which is burned forever in my mind. Some might call me a hypocrite, in fact, I think it has been sited that I have added regulars to my AU, but then it is an AU. And guys, if Kripke wants to put Victor Webster and Gabriel Aubrey on as regulars, well by all means, I will applaud. Heck, I would dance naked in the rain in honor of his greatness. But I don't need love interests or 'young hot chicks' to keep me glued to the CW on Thursday nights. That's not what I watch for. Again, I'm not suggesting we pose a strike, especially since we know so little. But I never think it hurts to express what we DON'T want. After all, look what the fans of Jericho accomplished. We have power. Use it.


	3. Chapter 3

Heroes-Revisited

Chapter 3

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

"_Self trust is the essence of heroism"_

_-Ralph Waldo Emerson_

"_Dean?" The name was the first thing on his lips as Sam blinked, feeling slightly out of sorts as he looked around the dark cavern he found himself in again._

_He must be asleep. Because Sam was certain he was at home in his family's kitchen. The teen didn't have time to think much more about it as a torch appeared in his hand, immediately after thinking how helpful one might be. Now Sam was certain he was dreaming. _

_Dean's name echoed in his foggy mind. Sam concentrated on his brother. The flickering light illuminated the cave. The cages were still there, but only held one quivering boy who looked out towards the dark abyss._

"_Dean?" Sam tried again._

"_Sammy? That you?"_

_Sam sighed in relief. "It's me."_

"_Why are you sleeping, Sammy? I told you to wake up." The tone was slightly scolding._

_"I did wake up," Sam defended. "But that was a while ago." The last thing he recalled was eating a bowl of cereal and watching his father and Caleb argue over topical maps. Sam had slipped on his brother's headphones for a moment's peace. "I must have dozed off," the teen finally concluded. _

_He heard his brother laugh. "I told you that camp wouldn't be very exciting. You should have gone for Six Flags or Williamsburg." _

_Sam held the torch up higher to illuminate Dean's location. "Are you okay, Dean?"_

"_Define okay, little brother." _

"_I can't see you." _

"_I'm here, Sammy. Don't worry."_

"_But…"_

"_Speaking of butts, how'd the panty raid go?"_

_Sam continued to search the darkness for the wall he'd seen earlier. "We're looking for you, Dean. You just have to hold on until we get there."_

"_You got a mouse in your pocket, Sammy?'Cause you seem like you're flying solo to me."_

_Sam rolled his eyes. His brother could irritate him even in a subconscious state. _"_No, Dad and Caleb are coming, too. We think we know where the raw head took you." _

"_Yeah, Damien must be pissed…and feeling guilty. Don't blame him, Sammy and don't blame Dad either."_

_Irritating or not, Dean still knew Sam better than anyone. The teen swallowed thickly. _"_I won't. You just have to hold on."_

"_I'm not going anywhere, Sam." Dean said confidently as if he could read his brother's morose thoughts. _

"_I'm coming, Dean. I promise," Sam called out, not understanding why he couldn't get a better fix on his brother in such a small area. _

"_No. Let Dad and Caleb handle it. I don't want you hurt." _

_The words brought sudden emotion and Sam had to blink to keep the tears gathered in his eyes from spilling over. They also magically brought much needed illumination. Sam's breath caught in his throat as he panned the torch around. _

_Two chains hung from the wall, extending to the floor where they were attached to Dean's wrists. Dean was sitting on the floor, his arms slightly extended above his head, and his body slumped to the side. He seemed to be unconscious. _

"_Dean!" Sam shouted, half relieved and half frightened when he found himself able to continue moving closer to his brother this time. "Dean, say something!" _

"_Something," Dean told him, opening his eyes and favoring his brother with a dopey smile. _

_Sam dropped to his knees, and cupped Dean's bleeding face with one hand. _"_Smart ass." Sam sighed, but couldn't keep from smiling._

"_Would you prefer I go on and on about how freaky it is that I'm dreaming about my kid brother instead of Cindy Crawford, or how about the new song I've come up with on how much I really hate freakin' raw heads?" _

"_At this point, I'd probably listen to you talk about anything-even sex."_

"_Whoa, I should send you out in the woods more often, kiddo. All that fresh air does do wonders for broadening your horizons and opening your eyes to Nature's mysteries."_

_Sam's grin faltered_. "_It's not done a lot for you though, huh? You're still stuck in the same old, same old." _

"_Are you kidding? I have met the nicest people. And seen one of Nature's biggest mysteries up close and personal."_

"_Not the kind of mystery you really want to write home about, though." Sam quipped as he set the torch down and tried to judge the solidity of the chains. _

"_Yeah, Dad wouldn't be impressed. Now if I'd run upon a big foot, or a wood troll had snatched me that might have been noteworthy to the old man."_

_Sam ignored his brother's ramblings. It confirmed Dean was in trouble. "Can you move?" _

"_Nope." Dean looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Seriously, I really don't get why I'm dreaming all this screwed up shit. If I could conjure you, I'd at least have given you super powers or something."_

"_It's not your dream," Sam explained as he knelt on the cold floor once more. "It's mine."_

"_Then why do I hear Skynyrd in the background." _

_Sam thought of the headset, and shrugged. He wasn't supposed to touch Dean's things._

"_And shouldn't you be dreaming about rescuing some scantily clad teenage girl instead of your way too cool, self-sufficient, heroic brother? Or seeing as how this is_ you_, how about saving your precious science project from a tragic lab explosion? _Or-_is this some twisted thing you've come up with because you're still pissed at me?"_

"_No." Sam stopped what he was doing. "I'm not mad at you."_

_Dean watched him for a moment, the emotion in his green eyes unreadable. Dean smiled. "That's good to know."_

_Sam nodded, unable to bring himself to say all the other things he needed to while his brother was so hurt and defenseless. "I have to get you out of here." Sam reached out and tried to maneuver the crude shackles. The bands were pieces of discarded metal bent and squeezed with brute force until they bit into Dean's wrists. The skin around them was bruised and bloodied. _

_A renewed sense of fury and loathing for the raw head washed over Sam. "I can't leave you here again." There was no way to get the manacles off. _

_Sam wondered what would happen if he just held on to Dean and forced himself to wake up. Dean's soft voice brought his gaze away from his brother's injured wrists. _

"_I don't think it works that way, little brother." _

"_What do you mean?" Sam asked, innocently. _

"_I mean, I…don't really know what I mean." Dean blinked. "But, if this _is _one of your freaky dreams, then I don't think hauling my ass out of it is an option. If so, I'd be up to my eyes in hot rides and have more supermodels hid in my closet than you could find at the Playboy Mansion."_

_Sam forced a smile, even though the truth of it made his heartache. "Dreams aren't real." He breathed. Dean had told him hundreds of times. Words which had once brought comfort and security now tore all that away._

"_Exactly. So, I'm not going anywhere. But you are."_

"_I can't leave you." Sam let his hand find his brother's. "I won't."_

_Dean surprised him by squeezing his fingers. "You have to."_

_Sam opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when Dean tightened his grip and smiled. "But feel free to use that freaky mind to conjure up some pretty little nurse to look after me while you're gone. I like blondes." _

"_I don't think it works that way, Bro." Sam looked around them, licked his lips._ "_Do you at least have any idea where you are? How we can find you any faster?" _

_Dean frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to concentrate. "I remember hearing water." _

"_I heard it too." _

"_I was pretty out of it after that thing used my head for batting practice, but I smelled something sweet, really sweet."_

"_Like what?"_

"_Like perfume." _

"_Perfume?" Sam frowned again. "Some kind of flower maybe?"_

"_Maybe. You tell me, Botanist Boy. It kind of smelled like Mom."_

"_Like daisies?" Sam asked. That's how Dean had once described Mary. Sunshine and daisies. It had stuck. Sam rarely saw a daisy without thinking of their mom. _

"_No." Dean shook his head. "Not like _her. _Like her perfume or maybe her soap or something." Dean swallowed hard. "Dad will know."_

_A sound in the distance caught both their attention. The seventeen-year-old dropped his brother's hand. "You need to go, Sammy."_

"_No." Sam shook his head._

"_It's coming." Dean's voice held a hint of urgency._

"_But this is just a dream and you said dreams can't hurt me." _

_Dean reached out and touched his brother's hand again. "I lied."_

_Sam bit his lip as he heard the monster coming closer. He knew in his heart the raw head couldn't physically touch him, but Sam had a pretty good notion his brother wasn't talking about that kind of hurt. "I don't want to leave you alone." _

"_It's okay, Sammy. Wake up and it will all be over."_

"_Stop saying that." Sam couldn't see the beast, but could hear it lumbering closer. _

"_Hey, it's your dream." _

"_Yeah, well…" Sam started, but suddenly Dean winced, reaching up to grab his head. Sam watched in morbid fascination as his brother's form actually flickered out of existence and then appeared more. _

"_Sammy. Wake up!" _

"_Dean? What's happening? What's wrong?" _

_Dean gasped again. Sam tried to grab onto his brother's shoulders to maintain contact as the seventeen-year-old was once more rendered invisible. Sam panicked. "Dean? Dean! Please come back!" _

"_God," Dean groaned, his body shimmered in front of the wall once more. His pain-filled eyes met Sam's and he forced a weak imitation of his grin. Unfortunately, his clenched teeth were a dead giveaway to the agony he was obviously enduring. "Hurry, Sammy. He's coming for the other boy."_

_And then he was gone. Sam looked around the cavern as it flickered and then faded, just like his older brother had, leaving Sam alone in the darkness. "No!" _

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Dean was pulled to consciousness by the falling of dirt on his bruised face and by the sound of muffled sobs. Daryl, the youngest of the Patterson boys, was crying louder-his voice dulled slightly by the ringing in the seventeen-year-old's head.

Dean looked around; realizing he'd once again passed out. Whatever the raw head had hit him with had done a number on him. And that was only the beginning.

The thing had taken some insane pleasure in making sure Dean was not in any shape to escape. Dean's screaming ribs were testament to the beast's thoroughness. But what had taken the cake was the sick way it had looked at him as it enveloped each of Dean's wrists beneath handmade, scrap metal cuffs. Who knew raw heads were so crafty? Wait until he told Caleb.

Daryl's crying pulled him from his dark thoughts and Dean cleared his dry throat, trying to bring some much needed moisture to his mouth. "It's okay, kid. Just hang in there." He finally pushed out past swollen lips. The seventeen-year-old was only slightly relieved when the little boy's sobs quieted marginally. A faint memory of dreaming about his own kid brother tugged at the corner of his mind. Dean fought harder to stay awake.

Daryl sniffed and looked at the older boy. "I thought you were dead-like Phillip."

"Phillip's not dead," Dean lied. In all probability Daryl's brother was dead. The raw had taken him several hours ago, despite Dean's best efforts.

The teen had to fight off a wave of nausea that washed over him at the thought of what might have become of Daryl's brother. He pushed himself up to a seated position against the wall, gasping when the metal cuffs around his wrist rubbed his mangled skin. "You have to think good thoughts. Remember?"

Daryl nodded, rubbing a dirty hand over his face. "I heard the bad man coming."

"I know." Dean sighed, unable to ignore the rumbling growing closer. "How about you scoot back as far as you can in that cage and make yourself as small as possible."

"Like a beetle?" Daryl stared at Dean. "Sometimes we pretend to be beetles in school at nap time."

"Sure." Dean smiled. "Like a beetle." Beetles weren't very appetizing. Better than having the little guy pretending to be a sausage.

Daryl crawled to the rear of the cage and collapsed in on himself, pulling his head and knees tightly together. In the darkness, the teenager could barely see him. It wasn't going to fool the beast, but at least out of sight out of mind was a concept that _could _apply. After all, Dean never craved chocolate chip cookies after dinner unless Sam left them out on the counter in sight.

"Just remember beetles are very quiet." Dean added, unsure if that were actually true. Sam could probably tell him which beetles were quiet and which ones weren't, but the walking encyclopedia wasn't there at the moment. And as the rumbling and growling grew louder, Dean couldn't have been happier that Geek Boy was safe and secure at some brainy camp forty miles away.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Caleb nearly spilled his coffee over the pile of maps scattered across the table when Sam sat up and screamed his brother's name. He quickly reached out and grabbed the kid to keep him from tumbling out of his chair. "Sam?"

The screaming got John's attention too. He thundered through the living room holding the cordless phone. It had taken forever to get a hold of a park ranger at four thirty on a Saturday morning.

Caleb waved him off. "I got it, Johnny." They couldn't afford for John to hang up on the man.

Sam was still breathing heavily and murmuring. "I'm okay. It's okay."

"Hey. Take it easy, Runt." Caleb placed a hand on Sam's head, hoping the touch would bring the teen some calmness. It seemed to help, but Caleb caught the backwash of the kid's fear, pieces of Sam's dream painfully slicing through his own thoughts. Reaves frowned. Dean was hurt. He could feel it now. "Bad dream?"

Sam nodded, slowly reaching up to slide the earphones he was wearing off of his head, letting them dangle loosely around his neck.

Caleb smiled as he recognized _Saturday Night Special._ "You saw Dean again."

"Yeah." Sam blinked and then rubbed his eyes. "I mean…I think so."

"Just take a deep breath, Sammy. Clear the cobwebs." Caleb was patient. Sam had information which might help, but Sam was still pumped full of adrenaline, preventing him from getting a clear reading.

The kid did like Caleb suggested and within seconds the intelligent gleam returned to the brown gaze leveled on the older hunter. He licked his lips, nervously. "Caleb? Am I really dreaming Dean or just _about_ Dean?"

Someone else might not have understood what the thirteen-year-old was asking, but Caleb understood the confusion all too well. It was damn unnerving to try and tell the difference between a normal dream, a vision, and a prophetic warning. Even after all the years Reaves had been dealing with his _gift_, he still felt frustrated. "I'm not sure, Sam. But if I had to put my money on it, then I'm guessing that you are _dreaming _Dean."

"But how's that possible?" Sam asked, slightly shaking his head and causing his too long hair to fall across his eyes. "It's never happened before. How can I talk to Dean in my sleep?"

"I'm not sure." Caleb frowned, rubbing a hand over his five o'clock shadow. He had his strong gut instincts; the hunter really wasn't sure why Sam was connecting so strongly with his brother. He would have to ask his father, Mackland Ames. "Could have something to do with you and Dean being separated when he was taken." Or could mean Sam was coming into his abilities.

"Does all this mean that I'm a freak?" Since turning twelve, that had been one of Sam's biggest fears. Maybe all teens felt that way at some point, but Sam had specific reasons for worrying about it, with the odd lifestyle his family led. He was consistently an outsider and under harsher scrutiny by his peers.

"No." Caleb said louder than he had meant to, surprising himself with the sudden need to make this point loud and clear. Caleb had been called a freak. It wasn't something he would ever let happen to Sam if it was in his power to stop it. "You are not a freak, Sam Winchester. No matter what. You might dream like this again, or maybe you won't. But no matter what, don't let it make you doubt who you are. You're still the same little Einstein you've always been. Dean Winchester's little brother. The son of one of the best damn hunter's I've ever known and my favorite Winchester."

"I thought Dean was your favorite?"

"Not this week." Caleb replied with a grin. He wished Dean had listened to him on the hunt.

Sam glanced down and fiddled with the tape player in front of him. He seemed to digest the words and appeared somewhat appeased. He glanced back up at Caleb. "Have you dreamt about the raw head?"

The hunter sighed. "Yes. That's why I called your father." His visions were from the perspective of the evil being. He'd been forced to watch it kill children. It felt as if he was the one attacking the unsuspecting victim. Caleb was pretty sure the nature of his visions was why he couldn't connect with Dean this time. His subconscious mind was protecting him from being in a position where he felt he was the one hurting Dean.

Sometimes his abilities were truly a curse, although Pastor Jim tried to convince him otherwise. "Have you seen the raw head, Sammy?"

The thirteen-year-old swallowed. "Not this one. But I've heard it."

"What about Dean and the boys you saw from before? Did you see them all again in this dream?"

"There was only one boy this time."

Caleb shoved his hands through his hair. "Damn." He swallowed the failure. They needed to save the other boy and Dean. "Go on, Sam."

"Dean was still chained to the wall. He's hurt, but he talked to me. So that's good- right?"

"It's great. Did he pass on any pearls of wisdom?" Caleb was trying to be comforting.

"Caleb, he thought he was dreaming about me."

"That must have been a change. I imagine most of Deuce's dreams involve leather and scantily clad bar maids."

Sam smiled at both the nicknameand the images Caleb's description conjured. "He was wondering why I was there instead of Cindy Crawford."

"Yeah, if your brother's unconscious digs up chains and cuffs, the nighttime movie is going to be rated way too high for your viewing pleasure, Runt."

Sam's smile faded some. "I told him it was my dream, but I'm not sure if he believed me."

"I'm sure he did. He never doubts you, Sam."

"But he blanked out on me a few times in the end-and then just disappeared."

"Blanked out?"

"Yeah. Sort of like the flickering of a light."

A smile spread across Caleb's features. "Now that sounds like good news, to me." It was the first real sign Dean was alive.

"Huh? Why is that a good thing? It hurt Dean. He was in pain."

Caleb shook his head. "Sleep or unconsciousness provides a medium for the kind of conversation you had with your brother. He was in pain, and momentarily out of contact with you because he was waking up."

Sam still looked confused so Caleb rushed on. "Dean would have to be in a deep state of sleep to communicate with you so, if he _blanked_, as you put it, then…."

"He's alive." Sam was relieved. The young psychic could always put Sam at ease.

"And we're going to save him." Caleb gave the teen an affirming nod. There was no choice. Dean would be alive, they would save the boys, kill the raw and then have pizza and beer to celebrate. Then when Dean was feeling good as new, Caleb would let him have it for disobeying the chain of command.

"Well, I've got good news and bad news." John reentered the room. His tired features, made him appear more rugged and haggard than usual.

For the first time in a long time, Sam saw a hint of defeat and weakness in the man. It scared him into silence.

"There are some abandoned mines in that area. Several, in fact." John rubbed his bloodshot eyes and took the seat next to Sam, tapping on the map in front of him.

"And the good news?" Caleb asked, standing to refill his coffee cup.

"That _was_ the good news. The bad news is that most of them have been blasted closed because of their unstable conditions. They're basically death traps, whether a big ass monster inhabits them or not."

"Great. Nothing I like more than chasing a mouse in a maze while the walls are falling down around me."

"What about the others? The ones that aren't in such bad shape?"

John looked at his son. "There are two good possibilities." He glanced at the map. "They are several miles apart, and that means a time limit considering we'll have to hoof it in.

Caleb stifled a yawn. "If we get close enough then I might be able to sense something, but it is still a fifty-fifty shot."

Sam interrupted. "Dean doesn't have a lot of time. He told me to hurry."

The oldest Winchester frowned. "What do you mean- he told you?"

"We could separate?" Caleb suggested. He refilled his coffee mug, and pushed it in John's direction. "That way we could cover both our bases."

"No. You know the rule-no hunting alone." John picked up the cup. "And if Dean's hurt, I'll need you to get him and Sam out of there while I finish that thing."

"Why do you get to finish it?" Caleb asked, a deep frown, marring his face. Reaves wanted a piece of the bastard that had made his life a living hell over the last month and now that it had hurt Dean…

"Dad?" Sam interjected, but apparently went unheard.

"Because I've got seniority," John replied, taking a long drink of the hot brew.

"Dad!" Sam shouted, getting his father's attention. "What kind of perfume did Mom wear?"

"What?" John nearly dropped his coffee. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Dean said you'd know."

"Again with the Dean said." John shot another accusing glance in Caleb's direction before addressing his son. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Sam nodded. "Dean told me that he smelled mom's perfume when the raw head was taking him back to its lair. We thought it might be a clue as to where he is. Maybe a flower or a tree or something in the vicinity. "

John took a deep breath and tried to still his racing heart. He raked a hand through his hair and held Sam's gaze. "Jasmine. I think it smelled like Jasmine."

"That can't be it," Caleb interjected, knowledgeably.

"How the hell would you know, Junior?" John snarled. "I think I know what my wife's perfume smelled like."

"Well, unless Dean is in Asia or South Africa, or the south tropics, I really don't see how he's near wild blooming jasmine. It's not a native blooming plant here."

When both Winchester's gave him a confused look, he rolled his eyes. "What? My grandmother liked flowers, alright? She taught me enough about them to know, you're not going to find some exotic patch of jasmine in West Virginia, unless it's in someone's flower garden."

"Well that wouldn't make sense, seeing as how we're looking for an abandoned mine."

Caleb thought for a moment and then raised a brow. "Could Mary have had a perfume that smelled like honeysuckle?"

John shrugged, conceding he didn't remember as much about his lovely wife as he wished he did. "Maybe. Could have been her shampoo." John had always loved the way Mary's hair smelled.

"I mean they're not the same, but both flowers elicit a strong aroma and have a sweet, almost intoxicating scent. Dean could have confused the two."

"Intoxicating scent?" John rolled his eyes.

Caleb gave him the finger. "You can tell Mac that I've been using that dictionary he gave me when I was fourteen."

"Honeysuckles are all over the place though," Sam pointed out. "We ate some this weekend at camp."

"You ate them?" John's head whipped around to look at Sam as if the boy might have received some mortal wound from the wild bush.

"Technically, I guess we just sucked the nectar out of them. Mr. Taylor showed us how. They were good." A slight pang of guilt washed over Sam. He thought about his brother, what he was going through, and what he had sacrificed to send Sam to camp.

"You know better than to be eating strange plants that some tender foot math teacher points out, Sammy."

"Johnny, they're perfectly safe. I've eaten them. . ."

"That's not a recommendation."

"Can we please get back to the subject?" Sam asked in exasperation. Sometimes his father and Caleb were as bad as Caleb and Dean. "Dean heard water too, if that helps narrow things down any."

"That's makes sense," Caleb spoke up. "Honeysuckle bushes often grow around creek beds. Now we have land marks. We need to see if one of those mines is near a stream, then we can just pack a picnic lunch and set off for the big bad wolf's place."

The oldest Winchester turned his dark, smoldering eyes on his son. "Sam, are you sure these dreams aren't just _dreams._ We could waste a lot of time looking for the things you're suggesting-time that your brother doesn't have."

Caleb hated the look of doubt that resurfaced on the thirteen-year-old's face. "I think Sam's had a premonition," the hunter answered for Sam. "It could just be a freak coincidence, but I don't think we should look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, in one of my first visions, the little girl had flowers in her hair. Thinking back, they could have been honeysuckle blooms."

Sam glanced from Caleb to his father. "Dad, I think I talked _with_ Dean. I don't know how, but I'm sure of it."

John watched his son for a silent moment, staring at him so intensely Sam was tempted to look away, but he didn't. "Alright. Let's look at the map and see what we can do. First light will be here soon. We'll have to be cautious. Raw heads don't hunt in the day, but catching one off guard will be hard. What they lack in brains, they make up for in their damn good senses." He looked at Sam. "I know you want to come, son, but at the first sign of that thing. I want you out of there. They go for smaller targets; the smell of children can incense them. It's like dropping bloody fish into a school of sharks."

"I'm not a kid."

"You're not an adult either, Sammy. That thing knows the difference. It likes innocence."

Caleb nodded. "Listen, Sammy. It has Dean and we don't want it to get you too." Already the hunt would be difficult since they had a vested interest. By adding in Sam they were going to be hyper-vigilant. But everyone was coming home. There was no choice.

Sam finally nodded. "I'm going to go restock the first aid kit, and we need to find something that will cut through metal."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

_Thank Tidia for this part being done so speedily. She got it back to me before I left for vacation. Hopefully when I get back next week I will have a couple more chapters of Heroes Revisited ready and the majority of Paper Tiger done so I might start posting it. Of course I am taking six novels with me and there is the actual vacation to think of… Thanks for all the kind reviews everyone. They inspire me to write even on my time off. Also, Tara has done another wonderful Brotherhood video. It's very good...and has some amazing cinematography I might add. Check it out here, and it should be up at The Hunters Tomb soon. _

http(colon)(backslash)(backslash)www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?vQTkle25JT1g


	4. Chapter 4

Heroes-Revisited

Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter is a little short, but it is one of my favorites and I didn't want to take away from anything that happens in it. Chapter 5 is much longer, but I'm trying not to overwhelm my very kind Beta, who does actually have a couple stories of her own going on as well as other authors to edit for. The quote for this chapter reminded me so much of Dean and this chapter is definitely dedicated to his wonderful persona!

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

"_A Hero is a man who does what he can." –_

Romain Rolland

Even though Dean had only just met Daryl Patterson, it was Sammy's voice he heard when the little boy begged Dean to save him as the raw head rattled and shook his cage. Sammy's horror-filled eyes locked with Dean's as the monster began to open the door that kept him from the child inside. And it was thoughts of bruised and battered Sammy filling Dean's mind as he placed himself in the line of fire to keep the little boy safe for as long as he could manage.

"Hey, Pig Face, why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Dean picked up a rock with his nearly numb fingers and manipulated enough slack in the chain to launch it at the beast's turned back. The seventeen-year-old could pitch pretty damn well with either hand. Although he lacked the speed and finesse of a first rate pitcher, he had the distance and power of a top notch first baseman.

The rock found its mark like Dean had been aiming for second base or home plate. The raw head grunted, and turned to glare at Dean. Snorting a warning, the creature once again began using its claw-like fingers to work the crude bar on the cage door.

"Are you afraid that I might be too much for you? Come on- a big man like you needs a super-sized snack, not some puny kid's meal. Leave the runt alone. I'll give you a damn prize if that's what you're worried about." Dean found another rock and threw it at the raw head, hard enough to graze its leather-like skin this time. "Take a bite out of me, Tiny."

Daryl was crying harder, remaining in the corner, maintaining some semblance of the beetle imitation. The raw head roared, and whirled around to face an innocently smiling Dean.

"What? You don't like a little pre-dinner show?"

The raw head stalked towards Dean. With the seven-foot monster quickly approaching, Dean scrambled to find anything he could use to defend himself. In the end, it didn't really matter because he'd accomplished what he'd meant to. He'd saved Sam. "Daryl -run!"

The little boy scrambled out of the cage towards the wooden ladder leading to safety above. The raw head whipped around as Daryl reached for the first rung. It faltered as Dean lashed out with his foot, catching the beast at what looked like a knee. The monster stumbled and cried out as the joint cracked and popped. It recovered quickly, but Daryl was already near the top, half his body disappearing over the lip of the crevice.

The raw head struck out at Dean. The sheer force of the impact sent the teen sprawling, the chains painfully jerking his arms as he was tossed against the stone behind him.

Dean's flesh came into contact with the unforgiving ground. He cried out, but managed to stay conscious. Considering its size and bulk, the beast was on him with amazing speed. Foul, hot breath brushed against Dean's bruised face as the beast wrapped its meaty claws around the teen's neck and drew him close.

"Dude-two words. Personal…. space!" Dean shoved weakly at the monster, unable to gain any leverage.

A large, black tongue emerged from the creature's mouth. Dean winced as it slid roughly across his face into his hairline where blood trickled from a gash above his brow. "Get…the…fuck off me," he spat through barred teeth as the monster repeated the action.

Dean tried once again to lash out with his feet. The raw head wasn't caught unaware this time and merely used its incredible size to overcome the teen. It pushed Dean against the ground, straddled him and pinned him down.

Panic started to build as Dean's mind conjured every possible situation that could take place. He was chained to a wall, half-conscious with the equivalent of a mutated, cannibalistic pedophile sitting on his lap. He would have given almost anything for his dad and Caleb to burst into the room at that moment and toast the bastard. If that happened Dean would promise never to disobey a direct order again.

Every inch of his body hurt, a wave of nausea swept over him. The pain was shoved to the background by the incredible rush of fear and helplessness threatening to takeover. Years of training kept him hanging on.

He was a soldier. A soldier who knew if he lost it now there would be nothing left to save, even if a rescue was imminent. The idea of his family finding his body in various stages of digestion was the only incentive he needed. His hand slid across the ground, grappled for anything and finally tightened around another good-sized rock.

"This whole bondage thing… "Dean bit out, "…really isn't…my cup of tea, Porky. For that fact…neither are you."

The raw head tilted its head, holding, holding its grip around Dean's throat. It bent low and growled in the teen's ear. Dean hoped that wasn't the monster's ides of whispering sweet-nothings. Black spots danced behind the hunter's eyes as precious oxygen was cut off. He cringed as once again he felt the wetness slide up his neck and across his face. He would never look at foreplay the same again.

_God. _

It was now or never.

Dean brought his hand up with all the force he could muster, slamming the stone into the side of the beast's face. It howled and jerked back, bringing Dean to a sitting position as it maintained a hold around the teen's throat.

Hurt flashed through its dark eyes and then the raw head's hideous face contorted with rage. So much for Caleb's theory the Flintstone throwback was incapable of emotions, because Dean could easily detect a hint of ecstatic glee in anticipation of the revenge it was about to dole out.

The raw head slammed Dean's body against the floor. The teen's head struck the hard ground. Pain exploded behind the young hunter's eyes and he cried out, which excited the beast further. The creature repeated the action. The last conscious thought Dean had was: at least he wouldn't be awake for the main course.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Sam stumbled when the first spike of agony tore through his skull. When the second attack came he would have fallen if his dad hadn't been there to catch him.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

"Hurts…" Sam managed to say as he leaned over, bracing himself on his knees.

John took Sam's face in his hands and forced his chin up. "Talk to me, Sammy. What's going on? "

The pain had been intense and sharp, but was quickly fading with each breath. Sam looked at his father, blinking away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. "I'm…okay." It had felt like someone had slammed a sledgehammer to the back of his skull, but was gone just as fast.

"Dean." Caleb knelt next to Sam. He was usually able to get a reading on Dean when he was in trouble. Even now he had felt a twinge, but nothing like Sam had evidently experienced. "We've got to be close to the mine. Sam-did you see anything?"

The thirteen-year-old straightened and looked at the other hunter. "What do you mean?"

Caleb squeezed the boy's hand. "Flashes of the cave like in your nightmares? It might have looked like quickly moving pictures."

Sam shook his head, and winced as the motion brought back an ache. "It just hurt…and I saw a bright flash, like you do sometimes when you get hit in the head really hard."

"You think it was Dean?" John asked with trepidation.

"What? What about Dean?" Sam sought out his father's solemn gaze, fear in his own brown eyes. "Tell me what's going on, Caleb?"

"Sam, remember I always told you that you were connected to your brother. . ."

"What? Is Dean hurt? Is that what I felt?" Sam looked at Caleb. His voice broke, "Does it mean he's dead?"

"No, goddamnit!" John shouted, grabbing his son's shoulders and giving him a slight shake. "That's not what it means. Don't ever say that! It doesn't mean anything."

"John, calm down. Sam, it doesn't mean he is dead. Probably hurt, but your brother has the hardest head I know. Remember when…" Reaves tried to the diffuse the situation with a ramble he needed to believe too.

"Shut up, Caleb!"

Sam started to protest again, but a loud crashing sound erupted in the thick forest around them. His father wasted no time in grabbing his arm, pulling him off the narrow path and into the sheltering trees. Caleb followed, drawing one of the tazer guns out of his pack as he did so.

It wasn't long before they all could hear harsh breathing and the pounding of rapidly approaching feet. "It's not big enough to be the raw."

Sam pulled away from his father. "Dean?" He started for the clearing, but John caught his arm again and pulled him back.

"No, Sam. Too much noise for your brother." John hissed. He looked to Caleb for confirmation.

The psychic shook his head. "It's not Deuce."

Caleb lowered the gun, and edged himself closer to the path just as Daryl tore through a stand of trees. The little boy barreled into the hunter. Caleb placed his hands on his small shoulders. "Hey?"

Daryl screamed, jerking wildly to free himself from the tall man's clutches. "Let me go!" he yelled as he kicked and punched Caleb.

"Take it easy, kid. I'm not going to hurt you." Reaves held the boy tighter.

"It's okay. You're Daryl, right?" Sam stepped out of the tree line and closer to Caleb. He bent down so he could see the kid's face. "Daryl Patterson?" He had read his father's research on the latest siblings to disappear, and he recognized the little boy from his dream.

Daryl eased his struggles and stared at the thirteen-year-old. His frightened eyes glistened and his lower lip trembled, but he managed to nod his head.

"I think you know my brother, Dean."

Daryl looked again to Caleb and then to John, standing behind his son.

"Dean…was at the cave. He told me someone was coming to save us."

Caleb released Daryl. The kid instinctively moved closer to Sam. "He helped me," the boy said softly.

Sam glanced up at his father and then forced a calm smile. "Daryl -where's Dean now?"

More tears filled the boy's eyes, some slipping past his lashes and sliding over his red cheeks. "He's… with my brother. The monster hurt them."

Sam felt his heart lurch as his mind conjured the dream images of his own brother. "Can you show us where?"

"No." John stepped forward. "Caleb and I can follow his trail from here. I want you to take the boy back to the truck, Sam."

"No." Sam stood, glaring at his father. "No way, Dad. I'm going with you."

"We are not arguing about this…"

"We should stay together," Caleb spoke up. "Dean wouldn't be in this mess if we had followed the golden rule and hunted together." Reaves took the blame even though Dean had been the one to break off from the older hunter. He glanced at the two boys. "You really want to leave them alone out here?"

"God damn it!" John yelled, causing Daryl to jump slightly. "These are my kids!"

"We're wasting time!" Sam shouted, surprising both men when he grabbed his father's bag and heaved it onto his shoulder. "Dean doesn't have _time_. He's waiting on me to help him."

John shoved his hands through his hair, looking from the trembling little boy to his defiant son. "Alright. But you and the kid stay outside when we get there."

When Sam exhaled loudly, John pointed a finger at him. "I mean it, Sammy. Your job is to watch the kid! Leave the raw head to me and Caleb-got it?"

"I just want to save Dean."

John nodded, and sighed. "I know, son. Me too."

"Me three," Caleb said softly.

Sam reached for the little boy's hand, and tried to sound as reassuring as he could. "Come on, Daryl. It's all right. You're safe with us."

The boy hesitated, taking a step away from the teen. "Are we going to see the bad man again?"

Sam swallowed hard, but nodded. He wasn't going to lie. Unfortunately, he knew all too well how terrifying the raw head could be. "Probably." He knelt in front of Daryl again. "We have to-if we're going to get our brothers back."

The five-year-old seemed to hesitate for a second, but then nodded and took Sam's hand. "Okay."

Sam looked up at his father and smiled. It was just that simple. Even a child could understand. Brothers would do anything for each other. Even face their worst nightmares.

RcJ


	5. Chapter 5

Heroes Revisited

Chapter 5

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

_"An ordinary man is involved in action, the hero acts. An immense difference." –_

_Henry Miller_

Even without Daryl's help, John and Caleb would have easily been able to follow his frantic trail through the forest. It led straight to a creek bank with fragrant blooming honeysuckle bushes.

Reaves fingered one of the blossoms. "Honeysuckle. Just like we thought."

Winchester nodded and then motioned to his son and Daryl. "You two stay here." John pointed to a cropping of shadowy trees. "Hide and do not come out until you hear either me or Caleb." He fixed his gaze on Sam. "No matter what, Sam. Do you understand?"

"But Dad…"

"No buts." He handed him one of the walkie-talkies and a shotgun. "I need to know you're out of danger, and it's your job to get Daryl to safety if anything goes wrong."

Before Sam could object further Caleb stealthily approached them, his features grim. "It's the right place. I can sense the raw now. The mine is up ahead, just like Daryl said."

"How's the entrance?"

"Open." Caleb frowned, concentrating. "And unguarded."

"Which means he's not concerned about company?"

"Or he's busy." Caleb glanced at Sam then shared a look with John. "We need to get in there, Johnny." There was no need to explain what he saw or 'felt' the beast doing to Dean.

Sam seemed to interpret his glance despite his attempt at coyness. The kid's breath hitched and suddenly he didn't seem to feel the need to argue with his father. "Go, Dad! Dean needs you."

John didn't have to be told twice. "Take point, Caleb. We move in together."

"I got it, Johnny." Caleb nodded to Sam who had put his arm around Daryl's trembling shoulders. Reaves could easily picture Sam at the same age. "We'll be back with your brother, Runt."

John shook his head as Caleb dashed off. He glanced back at Sam and held up the other walkie-talkie. "Maintain radio silence, Sammy. Wait for me to contact you."

"Yes, sir." Sam watched his father go, and hoped the nightmare would be over soon.

It didn't take the two hunters long to go the short distance to the mine. The shaft was covered by overgrowth. Some broken planks had been placed to deter any exploration. Dirt-covered warnings cautioned poisonous air and unstable ground, but neither hunter heeded the sign.

The problem wasn't their zeal, or brashness, but rather their misinformation. As John was fond of saying: a hunter was only as good as their intel. And both hunters believed raw heads to be rather stupid, instinct driven and animalistic.

But a stupid creature, driven purely by instinct, didn't lay snares or think about traps that would detain or perhaps kill those who might come looking for it. If that were true, deer and turkey hunters would have been in for a rude awakening.

The set up was quite brilliant, albeit crude. And perhaps if Caleb hadn't been concentrating on Dean, and John hadn't been in such a hurry to get to his son, one of them might have wondered about the 'lack' of security. The unhindered entrance was an illusion.

"Son of a bitch!" Caleb swore as he and John struggled to their feet, glaring up from the bottom of the pit they'd fallen into. The ground had seemed completely stable. Dirt and rocks tossed just so over rotten planks. "Since when do raws come equipped with a fucking brain?"

John groaned as he tried to put weight on his left leg. "Had to be some damn reason their head's so fucking big."

Caleb glared at him, but then his annoyed look became one of concern. "You alright?"

"I think my ankle's busted," John bit out.

Reaves bent down beside him. "Peachy."

John hissed when Reaves started to unlace his boot. "You?"

"Only thing hurting is my fucking pride. I don't know why I didn't know about this. . ." Caleb glanced around at the slick walls of the hole.

John shook his head. Neither of them had shown much common sense. "Of all the rookie moves..."

Caleb sighed. "I take it this was the pit Sam's premonition was warning about."

"You couldn't have figured that out before hand, Junior? You are a psychic." John growled.

The younger hunter started to reply, but winced instead, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes. A faint pain blossomed behind the front of his skull. "Goddamnit!" Caleb growled as he suddenly grabbed his head and bent over. "Now it comes on-line. Un…fucking…believable."

"What?" John asked as the younger man curled into himself, his forehead resting against the rock floor. "Caleb?"

John's voice sliced in and out like a dull, jagged blade, then silenced all together, drowned out by the roaring crash inside Caleb's head. Shards of images glistened in the young hunter's mind. Pictures started and then stopped in a dizzying strobe-light effect. Then the vision took complete hold, dragging Caleb into events that would unfold in the uncertain future.

_As usual Caleb watched the scene from the monster's point of view. The damn raw was standing over Dean, blood already on its claw-like hands. The young hunter was blinking and backing away across the ground, trying to escape the beast's reach._

_They weren't in the room Sam had described earlier, but rather deeper in the shaft-perhaps where the raw fed if the scattering of bones was any indication. Dean's wrists were still encased in some kind of metal, but he wasn't chained to a wall. The raw suddenly lashed out and kicked the boy. It then used one massive foot to clamp down on Dean's leg, effectively halting the teen's futile attempts at escape. _

_Dean cried out, trying to free his trapped limb, but the raw moved with incredible strength, swiping out and landing a blow to Dean's head. _

_"No!" Dean shouted._

_The raw swung its head, and Caleb's perspective on the scene changed. _

_Sam was standing in another entranceway, a shotgun held up to his shoulder. "Dean!" _

_"Sammy?" Dean shook his head, and struggled weakly to push himself up. "Don't!"_

_Sam pulled the trigger and the raw stumbled, but stayed on its feet. Roaring, the beast leapt over Dean's prone form, and snatched Sam off his feet. Terrified brown eyes locked on the raw, although Reaves felt as if they were staring at him. Caleb wanted nothing more than to remove himself from the scene, knowing he was about to witness Sam Winchester's death. _

_It came quick. One horrific shake and Sam's head snapped back with a faint whimper and a sickening pop. The raw dropped the thirteen-year-old, his broken body landing askew in front of his brother. Dean's eyes locked with his little brother's open, unseeing ones, and he reached a shaking hand out to wipe the trail of blood that escaped Sam's nose and mouth. _

Caleb groaned as the pain breached his senses, sending him tumbling into the present where John's steadying grip kept grounded him. "Shit."

"Caleb? Damn it, answer me." John slid his hand to the back of the younger hunter's neck. "Tell me this isn't some side effect from a blow to the head?"

"No. Vision." Caleb ground out. "Shit." He breathed, trying to get his emotions under control. The psychic lifted his head, took a shaky breath. "That wasn't good."

"What was it?" John let him go.

Reaves raked fingers through his black hair, squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Lifting glassy eyes to meet his mentor's concerned gaze, he shuddered. "We've got to get out of here, Johnny. The boys are in trouble."

John removed his hand from the other hunter and desperately fumbled for the radio still clipped to his belt. Turning it on static filled the air until the call button was depressed. "Sammy?" No answer. "Sam? Answer me, damn it. Samuel!"

"He found another way in. Or he will." Caleb shakily made it to his feet, pushing the overwhelming need to be sick to the back of his mind. "We need to be there when he does."

John threw the walkie-talkie against the dirt prison wall. "I'm not going anywhere on this fucking leg."

Caleb glanced up again. "You think you could hold my weight?"

John shook his head, motioning to the lip of the pit, nearly fifteen feet or better above them. "You'd still come up short."

"Damn." Caleb paced, and then stopped suddenly. "There is another way."

John frowned, picking up on what the younger hunter was planning. "Last time you tried that it was with a dog. If I remember right, Atticus fell in love with you. You really want to risk it with a 250 pound raw?"

"I've been working on it with Mac." Reaves tried to explain, "I'll just be distracting the raw head. An ECMC will confuse it until we can get out of here."

"A what?"

Reaves sighed. They didn't have time for explanations. "An emotionally charged mental conflict." Caleb clenched his teeth when John stared at him in disbelief. "A psychic attack, John. Trust me."

"You're not telekinetic."

"This isn't physical."

Winchester didn't look convinced. "Don't you have to be closer? In the same room, even? Doesn't the victim have to be in a hypnotic state, or astral traveling?"

John had enough information to be annoying and cause Reaves to doubt himself. "Not necessarily." Caleb glanced away. "And if I have a medium, I can long-distance it. Project through that person, piggyback, sort of. Mac and I have done it." But his father had been prepared to be the conduit.

It took a second for John to realize what Reaves was implying. "You want to use my son as some kind of psychic conduit? No way! That's too dangerous."

"And facing a raw head is a walk in the park?" Caleb snapped. "I'm just going to give him a boost, you stubborn sonofabitch. Whether you like it or not, Sam has a gift, and we are stuck down here without any solutions. If we don't do something he'll die."

"You don't know that for sure." John wanted to get some distance between him and the other hunter, but the pit was too small.

"Don't make me describe how the raw killed Sammy in front of Dean. It will destroy you all."

"Damn you!" John grabbed the younger man by the shirt collar and shook him. "You know what this means. I didn't want him to know. . ."

"I know." Caleb lowered his voice. It was a direct violation of everything John had gone to extremes to protect his son from. "Believe me, I know. But we don't have a choice here."

John lowered his head, and released the other man. "So help me, Caleb, if this doesn't work…"

Caleb knew what the alternative was, Sam's death and probably Dean's too. It was worth the risk.

Caleb rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. He was scared.

John leaned against one of the walls, looking as about as unglued as Caleb had ever witnessed. "What should I do?"

"Pray. And whatever happens don't touch me."

"Be careful. I don't want to have to explain anything to Mac." John warned.

"Right." Caleb closed his eyes. He hoped he would be the only one affected. He sent a quick plea to anyone who might be listening that he wouldn't short-circuit Sammy's hardwiring, or worse. "Here we go."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

John and Caleb had only been gone a few moments before Daryl started to fidget. It reminded Sam of Dean when he was cooped up too long, or nervous about a hunt. It also made him miss his brother desperately.

"Do you think Phillip is okay?" The little boy asked, bringing Sam from his musings.

"I hope so."

"The bad man took him away last night."

"I know." Sam sighed, remembering the other little boy was missing from his last dream.

"I'm sorry."

"Your brother told me that he would save him."

"If anyone can...Dean will."

"But he's hurt."

Sam looked down at the radio, wondering if his father was close to the mine now. "Dad and Caleb will get to them."

"What if they need our help?"

Sam worried about the same thing. He knew his father was the most skilled hunter, and Caleb had been trained by John, but something inside Sam screamed at him that _he_ should not be sitting this one out.

It was his job to save his brother, before it was too late. He had a lot to make up for.

"Your daddy would be really mad if we followed him, huh?"

Sam looked at Daryl, who moments earlier had been terrified by the thought of facing the raw head again. "He wouldn't like it, that's for sure."

"There's another way in."

"What?" Sam raised his eyebrow. "Another way into the mine?"

Daryl nodded. "It's how the bad man brought your brother in."

Sam glanced at the radio again, and then to the little boy. Three against one odds were better than two, and if Sam could somehow sneak in then he could get to his brother while his father and Caleb took care of the raw. "Show me."

It hadn't taken long for Sam and Daryl to circle back around behind the old mine. Once there, Sam easily discovered the hidden entrance behind a covering of trees and smartly placed boulder. If one wasn't paying close attention it would be overlooked.

"I think you should stay here, Daryl."

"But I want to help." Daryl looked around the forest. "And I don't want to stay by myself."

Sam slid his teeth over his bottom lip as he looked from the boy to the dark entrance of the mine. A part of him knew Daryl would be in danger with either choice he made. The internal struggle gave him a small glimpse at what his father and Dean dealt with on a daily basis. Finally, he sighed. "Okay, but stay close and do exactly what I tell you, got it?"

Daryl nodded. "Wolf Cub's honor." The little boy held up his two-fingers in a salute, and Sam grinned, not exactly sure what a Wolf Cub was.

The shaft was dark and damp. It smelled of stagnant water, cold earth, and a stench Sam could only describe as rank death.

Daryl pressed closer to Sam, causing the older boy to stumble on the uneven ground. The young hunter cursed himself for not bringing a flashlight, and tried to tread more carefully.

He could just make out a flickering of light up ahead, a dancing shadow cast by a torch's glow. The thought of the torch brought back a flash of a scene from his first nightmare. Sam held out a hand to keep Daryl behind him and cast a suspicious eye to the ground, wary of their tenuous footing. In his dream he had fallen after entering the mine, and even though nothing unusual appeared his fear of taking an unwanted trip still plagued his mind. And something else nagged at him- the unwelcome feeling of déjà vu.

"Sam?" Daryl's whisper brought his gaze to the small boy. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded and bent down in front of Daryl. "I need for you to do something for me."

"Sure."

It didn't make sense, but Sam's gut instinct was speaking. "I want you to go back the way we came in, and then around to the other entrance." Sam handed the boy the walkie-talkie. "Take this and call my dad when you're close to the front of the mine." Sam pointed to a button on the side of the hand-held radio. "Just click this once, don't say anything. He'll call you back."

"But…"

"No buts." Sam smiled slightly. He was using his father's exact words from before. He only hoped Daryl followed orders better than he did. "I have a feeling that my dad and Caleb might be in trouble. They may need our help." He couldn't explain it, but that was true of a lot of things that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. For some reason, Sam knew something had gone wrong with the other two hunters.

"But what about our brothers?"

Sam gripped the little boy's shoulder. "I'll get them back. I promise." Sam nodded towards the faint light from the entrance barely visible to them from their position. "Now, go on."

Daryl pouted as he turned around and made his way back towards the exit. Sam stood watching until the blackness swallowed the boy from sight. The teen clutched the shotgun close to him and kept moving further into the passage his resolve to save his brother guiding his way.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Dean clutched his arms to his chest and tried not to breathe too loudly or deeply. At the moment, his whole world was one big hurt.

He'd regained consciousness moments earlier to the eerie sounds of a knife being sharpened. A very large knife by the sounds of the metal surface touching the grinder. And since then, things had only gone down hill. His body and strength had betrayed him, offering no escape and no rescue by his father or Caleb had been accomplished.

At least Daryl had gotten away and he was no longer chained to the wall. But, one glance at his throbbing wrists told Dean the make-shift cuffs were still in place, secured tightly around his bloodied hands, a chain now binding them together. His head felt as if it weighed a ton, his blurred vision and the fact the room kept spinning were indications he had at least a slight concussion, at worst some hemorrhaging. And Caleb was always telling him his head was impervious.

A hysterical laugh almost burst forth at the thought, which was worrisome considering it really wasn't that humorous. But the idea of bringing unwanted attention and anymore weird foreplay with the raw kept Dean in control.

He could still smell the thing on his clothes. It even overpowered the coppery twang of blood. The idea of having to endure anymore up close and personal time was enough to tempt him to give into his nausea.

However, soft whimpering in the corner drew his attention from his own peril as he caught sight of Phillip cowering against the far wall. The boy looked worse for wear, but at least he still had all of his appendages in place, and he was conscious. Dean's rage overcame his fear as he watched the raw move towards Phillip.

"I see you're still messing with half pints, Porky." Dean pushed himself up to a sitting position, despite his stomach's summersaults. "Was I too much for you?"

The monster stopped and snorted, coming closer to Dean, away from its intended victim. Dean blinked rapidly to clear his vision and tried to backpedal across the ground. Unfortunately, the raw head stopped him with a vicious kick to his already aching side, and then stepped down on his lower leg, effectively pinning him. Dean cried out in agony.

The hunter still struggled. The beast swiped out with one meaty paw, connecting with Dean's head with a brute force that had the young hunter seeing stars and hearing bells. He was amazed he didn't pass out, adrenaline the only logical reason for him to remain conscious through the blinding pain and sheer force of the blow.

For a moment, Dean thought he might have blacked out as the sound of his brother's voice floated to him through the red haze encompassing his over-taxed senses.

"NO!" Sam's voice echoed in the cavern as he stepped from the shadows into the firelight. He'd come to the opening of the cavern in time to hear his brother cry out in pain. The raw head snapped up and snarled at the thirteen-year-old as he raised the shotgun to shoulder level.

"Sammy?" Dean looked around, his eyes having a hard time focusing on the blur he was certain was his little brother. "Don't," he warned just as Sam fired.

The youngest Winchester's marksmanship was dead on, but the blast of buckshot to the chest only infuriated the unfazed raw.

Dean watched helplessly as the thing leapt across him and snatched Sam off his feet. He was helpless to do anything. His injured body refused to respond to any command. It was every nightmare and fear he'd ever known coming to life in painful living color

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

It was painful for John to simply sit and watch as everything else spiraled out of his control. What in God's name had he been thinking when he'd agreed to Caleb's plan? Not only was he agreeing to risk his son, he was risking Mackland's son.

The older hunter studied Reaves, tempted to bring him out of whatever the hell state he was in, when the radio squawked. At first John wasn't sure of what it was, seeing as he'd tossed the damn thing against one of the dirt walls, but his mind quickly picked up on the familiar noise and he hobbled to where it lay in the dirt. "Sammy?" he asked with a prayer.

There was a pause then a small, young voice replied, "It's Daryl."

John sighed. "Daryl, where's my son?"

"Uh...in the cave, Sir. Where are you?"

"We're in a mess, Daryl. Where are ?" John tried to take some of the gruffness out of his voice, but the pain in his ankle and the worry eating away at the tattered shreds of his patience wasn't helping matters.

"Right outside."

"The mine?"

"Affirmative," the little boy replied, confidently.

John sighed. "I need for you to listen to me real carefully…can you do that?"

"Ten-four."

Apparently, Daryl had a walkie-talkie of his own at home. "Okay." John looked to where Caleb sat, a frown now marring his young face. "I want you to come into the mine, but be very careful, Daryl. There's a large hole in the ground."

"Like a booty trap?"

John shook his head, thinking about how that sounded like something Dean would say, but with none of the innocence Daryl's voice conjured. "Yeah, son, a trap."

It wasn't long before Daryl's voice came through the radio again, but also floated down from above them. "Are you down there?"

John raised his head, and watched as the little boy's face came into view, just over the lip of the crevice. John dropped the radio to the ground. "That would be an affirmative."

"Sam said you might be in trouble."

"He was right."

"How you going to get out?"

"I was hoping you might be able to help with that. If I throw a rope up to you, is there anything up there that you could tie it to?"

Daryl stood up and looked around the mineshaft. It was empty except for scattered boards and a busted cart. "Not really."

"Damn it," John swore.

"But I could use a ladder."

"A ladder?" Caleb made a noise and John's eyes momentarily returned to him. The frown from before twisted into more of a grimace, and sweat beaded along the other hunter's brow. John forced his eyes upward again. "Daryl? You see a ladder?"

"Not from here, but it's not far, going into the bad man's house under the ground."

"Can you get the ladder, Daryl, without the bad man knowing?"

"I think so. It's big, but I could drag it."

"That's good, Daryl. Hurry as fast as you can, but be careful."

"Ten-four," Daryl said, still talking into the radio. "Over and out."

John took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Not only had he allowed Caleb to attempt a psychic rescue of his sons, he was now counting on a five-year-old commando to save his own ass. He was pretty sure he'd lost all control.

_RcJ_

_A/N: Hopefully planning on another part of this 'monster' by the weekend. And Chapter 2 of Paper Tiger. Thanks so much for all the reviews!! I have not had a chance to answer any this week. Someone asked about the AU being open and it is and if using Caleb was alright. Hmmm, that didn't sound good did it? Using as in a story-wise, that is completely fine. He is an original character of the show, only tweaked and with better hair…or at least more hair. Knock yourself out. _

_Also, a big shout out to our Hunters at The Hunter's Tomb who have gotten a lot of the stories up and going, and to finding all the mistakes I am yet to fix.;-). They should be archiving other writers soon. Thanks guys!_


	6. Chapter 6

Heroes Revisited

Chapter 6

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

"_**The cowards think of what they can lose, the heroes of what they can win."--J. M. Charlier**_

Dean had lost all control. He was frantically trying to push past his weakness and the pounding in his head to get to his feet as he watched the monster lift his little brother higher into the air.

Sam's terrified gaze was locked on the behemoth. He struggled in the crushing grip as he was brought eye level with the raw.

Dean pushed at the ground fruitlessly, trying to get to his brother before it was too late when Sam suddenly cried out in pain.

The cry reverberated through Dean, sending his racing heart to a screeching halt, setting every nerve on end. "I'll kill you," he shouted, using the only part of his body that was cooperating, although the threat came out pathetically weaker than his emotions justified.

To his amazement the raw screamed back. It wasn't a howl of rage, but one of shocked pain. The beast roughly dropped Sam to the ground, and grabbed its head with claw-like hands, writhing in agony.

Dean was confused by the monster's actions, but ignored it as he half-crawled, half-dragged himself the few feet to his brother. "Sammy?" He reached for Sam, whose face was still twisted in agony.

The raw screamed again, staggering until it bumped into another wall, shaking its head like it had been stunned.

What disturbed Dean the most was Sam cried out too, bringing his own hands up to his head. "Sam!" He searched frantically for the source of his brother's pain, but saw no wound.

"Dean!" Sam gasped, his eyes still clenched tight. "Help."

Using his mangled hands wasn't easy, but he managed to get Sam up off the ground enough to rest his brother's trembling body against his chest. "Sammy? What's wrong?"

"My…head," Sam cried out, and bucked in his brother's arms.

Dean held on to him and silently swore to take the raw head apart piece by piece as Sam once again whimpered and burrowed closer against his chest trying to escape whatever was hurting him. A thin line of blood trickled from his nose and Dean brushed it away with his thumb. "Shit! Sammy?"

When his brother didn't respond, he lifted his gaze to the monster and watched as it continued to stagger until both its legs collapsed beneath it, sending it to its knees not far from where Dean held his brother.

"Please stop…," Sam whispered. "Make it stop, Dean."

"What, Sammy? Talk to me."

"I can't stop it…" Sam moaned. "It…"

"What, Sam?" Dean growled in frustration, helpless to stop what was hurting his brother. He glanced up again, wondering if Sam was talking about the raw, which just hit the wall again as if something had flung it, or struck it. Nothing was fucking making any sense.

Sam cried out again, and jerked in his arms. "Caleb!" Then his brother was deathly still.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

"Sam!" Caleb cried out. He brought one hand to his head, and braced himself on the ground with the other.

"Junior?" John rested a hand on the younger hunter's shoulder.

Reaves struggled to regain his focus, the shift in realities momentarily disorienting. He looked up at his mentor. "We have to get out of here. _Now_."

"I've got it covered," John said. "Tiny Tim has come to our rescue."

John helped him to stand and Reaves ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Good. We've got to get to them."

"What's going on? Are the boys alright?"

Caleb licked his lips, trying to keep himself from being sick. He looked at John feeling guilty as hell. "I don't know." When Caleb's _gift _had come on-line at the age of thirteen it had landed him in a psych ward of a hospital where Mackland Ames had found him. Mac became his adopted father, helped him gain control of his abilities and Jim Murphy gave him a place in The Brotherhood. They believed and trusted him. And now he had hurt Sam.

John removed his touch. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Caleb never expected the teen to put up a fight. To somehow instinctively throw up barriers Reaves had to tear down in order to save his life and Dean's. If there was any sacrifice to be made, Caleb had been willing, but Sam would never be forfeit. "I think I bought us some time, but…"

"Did the EMC thing work?"

"Sort of."

The arrival of the ladder spared the psychic any further details and he gestured for John to start up. "I'll give you a hand from this end."

John frowned, but knew answers weren't as important as getting to his boys. He used his arms to pull himself up the first few rungs until he could balance on his uninjured foot. With Caleb helping, they made it to the top in fairly good time.

"Are you okay?" Daryl asked, his gaze sweeping over the hunters. "You look bad."

"Nothing we can't handle, kid." John grimaced as he tried to put his full weight on his injured leg. He turned to Reaves. "We need to hurry."

Caleb rolled his eyes at the man. "I'll hurry; you and G.I. Junior back me up."

The younger hunter grabbed the ladder, pulled it up, and started to the entrance to the raw head's lair. There would be time later to explain to John his son was unconscious, and Caleb had no idea of how to bring him out of it. For now, he just needed to complete the mission-bring Dean and Sam home.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Dean kept his eye on the raw, scooting back farther away from it, pulling Sammy with him. He watched the creature, but leaned his head close to Sam's face, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief when he felt the brush of warm breath on his cheek. "Wake up, little brother. Wake up, and it will all be over," he whispered, hoping to God he was telling the truth. "Come on, Sammy, I need for you to wake up." Dean tightened his hold on his brother and tried to pull them even further from the rallying raw.

The thirteen-year-old remained motionless and Dean bit his lip to keep from losing the shaky grip he had on his emotions. Sam's nose was still bleeding, and Dean didn't want to think about what might be causing it. He hadn't seen the beast do anything to his brother but pick him up and then drop him to the ground. Dean had done worse to the kid in countless sparring sessions. Sam was tough.

In the back of his mind, Phillip's crying still registered as did the grunts and groans of the raw head slowly struggling to its feet, but Dean's attention was focused on the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest. If he was still breathing, then everything else could be worked around.

A shuffling near him finally forced his eyes from Sam. He looked up to find the monster towering over them. He looked almost as unhappy with the turn events as Dean.

"Back off," Dean growled, again pushing himself across the ground with his one good leg, dragging a lifeless Sam with him until their backs were literally against the wall. There was no where left to go.

Dean was going to kill the raw head if it was the last thing he did. The creature was looking at Sam like he was a prized pork chop. The seventeen-year-old was well aware of his inability at that moment to protect his brother. It was unfamiliar and terrifying.

The raw reached to take Sam from Dean, a heinous gleam in his wide-set, beady eyes. "No!" Dean did the only thing he could do. He curled himself over Sam's prone form, shielding him from the raw.

He expected to feel the slashing tear of claws on his skin or another bone-crushing blow, but instead, the beast screamed. A distinct snap and crackle filled the air along with the stench of burning flesh.

"Shocked to see me, you sick son of a bitch?" Caleb smirked as the raw whirled on him, shaking and trembling from the mega volts of electricity now coursing through sinew and bones from the tazer blast.

Dean glanced up, never quite so glad to see someone in his entire life. "Caleb."

Then his father was there, larger than life. John stepped along side Caleb, firing his own weapon into the beast.

Dean tightened the hold on his brother and watched in morbid fascination as the thing bubbled and melted like a dripping candle, its features running together like colored wax until it exploded in one big mess of red, orange, and black blubber.

John raced to his sons, who were covered with the gory remains of their former captor. "Dean?"

"Dad?" Dean stared at him with a somewhat dazed expression.

John knelt in front of the teen. "Son?"

Dean managed a weak imitation of his usual cocky smile. "What the hell took you guys so long?"

"Ah, fell into the usual trappings. Caleb had to fix his damn hair-you know what a princess he can be," John quipped, doing his best not to slip in the slimy residue of the raw. "You okay, Ace?"

The seventeen-year-old was pretty sure he looked like he felt, which was anything but okay. He could feel the bruises throbbing hot on his face and he was aware of the blood trickling from the cuts on his head. "About as good as I look."

John glanced to the blossoming of vivid purples and blues near Dean's right temple and forehead where a long gash ran back into his hairline and then to the boy's wrists which were manacled and a fucking mess. "That's not making me feel better."

Dean watched his father's features grow grimmer as John's attention shifted to the still form of his youngest son wrapped securely in his brother's embrace.

"Sammy?"

Dean looked down at his brother, his smile fading. "He's breathing," Dean said, glancing at his father. "I…I don't know what happened, Dad. One minute he was charging in here like some comic book superhero, and the next he was…" Dean licked his dry lips, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tremor out of his voice. "He's hurt. I'm sorry."

John looked over his shoulder to where Caleb was bent over the other Patterson boy, untying his hands, trying to calm his terrified crying. Daryl was with him, clinging to the older child.

"I know, John. I'm sorry." Reaves didn't turned around. He couldn't face the Winchesters. He had caused the harm.

Dean watched his father's face. It was full of emotion, most of it unreadable. He reached out for Sam, and before Dean could catch himself, he flinched and drew back, tightening his hold on his brother.

"It's okay, Dude." John reached out and ran his hand over Dean's hair. "I'm just going to check your brother out. Take it easy."

John waited until Dean nodded his understanding before starting his examination. He let Dean hang onto Sam as he checked his youngest son's pulse. "How long has he been like this?"

"Five minutes or more," Dean offered, watching his father.

"His nose was bleeding."

John sighed heavily. "Did your brother slur his words? Did he seem disoriented?"

"What?" Dean frowned. "He was in pain-kept saying his head was hurting." He looked at his father. "What the hell is going on? What's wrong with him?"

John lifted each of Sam's eyelids, praying for some reaction as he rubbed his knuckles across the boy's sternum. "Damn it," he bit out when he got no reaction, hoping to hell his son's skull wasn't slowly filling with blood.

"Dad?" Dean could feel panic creeping in. "He's going to be okay, right?"

John removed his hands from Sam and rocked back on his heels. "Caleb?"

Reaves had moved unnoticed to stand behind Winchester. "We need to hurry."

John glared up at him. "You've been saying that a hell of a lot today."

Caleb ignored him instead kneeling beside Dean. "Good to see you in one piece, Deuce."

The teen swallowed thickly. "Yeah."

"I got Sammy, okay."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

Caleb lifted Sam from his brother, knowing John would never manage with his injured ankle. "We need a hospital, Johnny."

Dean watched his father give a resigned nod. "Hospital?" The teen nearly choked on the word. Not that he wasn't all for it, but his father rarely allowed that amenity unless injuries were serious.

John looked at his oldest son. "Both of you need to be looked at, Ace."

"I'm good." Dean shook his head, trying to prove his words by attempting to stand. "Just worry about Sammy."

John reached out and steadied him, giving him a stern look. "That's an order."

"You better let me get rid of Deuce's new taste in jewelry," Caleb nodded to the twisted metal around Dean's wrists, "Or we're going to have some explaining to do."

"You can do it in the car." John glanced away from Caleb and motioned to Daryl. "Help your brother, son. We're getting the hell out of here."

"Roger, sir." Daryl smiled, his arm wrapped securely around Phillip's waist.

"John…I'm. . ." Caleb started only to have the other hunter cut him off with a silent glare.

"Not now."

The other hunter nodded, feeling the immense weight of the slight kid in his arms. Apologies were not going to be sufficient.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

They made horrible time back to the Impala. John and Dean were sporting useless legs, and depended on the children for help. Caleb carried Sam and led the way. Dean's concussion reared its ugly head, causing him to vomit on the forest floor on two occasions. John worried the boy might pass out before they arrived at the car. But Dean held on, like a good soldier, pushing through his own pain in the desire to get help for Sam.

Once they reached the car, John drove, despite his leg, thankful it was his left ankle. The small boys were dropped off not far from their house with rehearsed stories of deer hunters who had rescued them from a very bad man. John didn't know what they would actually end up recounting. Either way his family's time in the small town was up.

"Ow!" Dean's snarl had him glancing in the rearview mirror where he could see Caleb and his son wrestling with the metal around the seventeen year-old's wrist.

"I almost got it, Deuce," Caleb growled back as he worked to get some leverage beneath the last manacle. "Stop your whining."

"_It _being a big chunk of my skin!" Dean panted; gritting his teeth as the other hunter finally worked the metal cutter, and pulled apart the cuff along with some of the teen's flesh. Instead of crying out, Dean tasted blood as he bit his own lip to hold the weakness at bay. Still, his eyes filled, and he glanced down to his unconscious brother lying across his lap to bolster his defenses.

"Sorry." Caleb's voice softened. "I need to clean these."

Reaves tossed the bloodied scrap out the window and retrieved the first aid kit.

Dean shook his head. "It can wait." He hissed slightly as he let his injured but free hand rest on Sam's chest.

Caleb gently squeezed Dean's shoulder. "It'll be a minute and what would Mac say if you got gangrene?" Sometimes, Dean could be as stubborn as the man driving.

Dean's mouth twitched. "He'd say green was a good color for me."

"Like black, blue, red and brown." Caleb raked his eyes over the hurt teen and shook his head. "I don't think so." Reaves saturated a cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide and dabbed at Dean's wrist trying to clean some of the debris. The injuries had him wishing he could go back and kill the raw again, only slower and in a more painful manner.

Dean was speaking again, but not to him. The psychic tried not to listen as the words meant to comfort Sam drove small spikes of guilt through his heart.

Through the years Caleb watched Dean sacrifice himself over and over again to protect his brother from enemies, and even from their own father. It made Reaves more determined to protect Dean. And now he had caused those he had sworn to protect pain.

"Do you know what's wrong with Sam?"

The soft question caught the hunter off guard, and Caleb stopped his ministrations to find Dean's gaze on him, his green eyes reflecting an unspoken vulnerability that had his chest tightening and his throat threatening to close up. "Kind of."

"Was it the raw?" The question might have been straightforward, but it held untold implications. Did Dean fail his brother? Was there something he could have done to stop it from happening?

"No." Caleb braced himself. "It was me." _It was all me. _

Caleb briefly met John's eyes in the rearview mirror before the younger hunter focused on Dean again. "I had a vision. The raw was going to kill him. Snap his neck. So, I had to do something."

A deep frown marred the teen's face, seeming more painful and accusing because of the vicious bruising already scarring his features. "You did this?" Dean asked, disbelievingly. "On purpose?"

"Not on purpose! I was trying to help. I know you don't understand, but I had to do _something_, and it's the only thing I could manage at the time."

"So you what? You got inside his head…messed with him?"

"Sam was supposed to be an amplifier."

"What?!" Dean asked, incredulously, his eyes going first to Sam's slack face and then to his father's reflected in the rearview mirror. "You let him do this? You knew about it?"

"Dean…," John started, but Caleb interrupted.

"You'd rather we let the raw kill him? I _saw_ the thing do it, Deuce! He snapped his neck like some godforsaken twig, and then dumped his body at your feet like it was some kind of fucking joke. I felt Sam's pain, your pain."

"And what about the pain you caused Sam, Caleb? Did you feel that, too? Because I sure as hell did!"

"Shut the hell up! Both of you just shut the hell up!" John snapped from the front seat. "I don't want to hear anything else from either of you until we get to the hospital." He turned the volume up on the radio and pushed the car harder.

"I didn't have any choice. If it came down to it, I would have done it all over again." Caleb kept his voice low so John wouldn't overhear.

Dean glared at him. "We all have choices, Damien. Jim tells us that all the time. You made a bad one."

Caleb looked down at Sam and then at Dean. "Like the one you made when we were hunting." For all rights and purposes Dean Winchester was his best friend, but at moments like this he could twist the knife in Reaves's gut like no one else. "None of us would be here if you hadn't had to do things your way, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. The look on his face told Reaves's he probably had a similar power over the teen. Caleb swallowed hard as he saw, _felt_, the rush of pain run through the other boy. He tried to take it back. "I didn't mean that, Deuce. It wasn't your fault. I knew better, but it was the only way to save his life."

Dean turned away, his eyes straying to the buildings passing by.

Caleb sighed and rested his head against the other window. They were in the city, the hospital couldn't be far. Sam hadn't stirred, but Caleb was reassured by the fact the kid was still breathing. Sam would be all right. He had to be. If not, Caleb was pretty sure Sam wouldn't be the only one lost to him.

RcJ


	7. Chapter 7

Heroes Revistied

Chapter 7

Beta: Tidia

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

_**A hero is simply someone who rises above his own human weaknesses, for an hour, a day, a year, to do something stirring.--Betty Deramus**_

It had to have been pretty dramatic to witness. Caleb burst into the room, murder in his eyes, carrying an unconscious and slime-covered Sam through the ER doors. "I need help here!" he shouted.

A bloodied Dean hobbled in, assisted by his limping father. They looked like war-ravaged veterans.

"What happened?" A young man about Caleb's age met him half-way across the floor. His scrubs and stethoscope screamed doctor, but Caleb frowned doubtfully.

"Are you a doctor?"

"No. I just like to hang out in emergency rooms dressed as one." His face paled slightly when Caleb's glare intensified. "I'm Doctor White." He motioned to some orderlies with a stretcher. "You want to tell me what happened?"

John appeared at Caleb's side as they were surrounded by other staff. The lies slipped easily from Winchester's lips.

"We were deer hunting. The boys took a bad fall down a steep incline." John then explained how he had twisted his ankle trying to reach them. "I had my son, Dean, wrap the rope around his wrists when we pulled them up. I think he might have broken some ribs."

Caleb rolled his eyes. It was lame. If the doctors had paid closer attention, it had holes the size of golf balls, but there wasn't time for that kind of inspection and thankfully no need to call the police.

None of their injuries were weapon induced. Unless his mind could be included as a tool of destruction. Reaves pushed the thoughts aside as Sam was pried from his arms. There were more important things to consider-like the unconscious teen.

"How long has he been like this?" An older gray-haired man stepped in beside White, nudging him to the side as Sam was placed on a stretcher. His name tag read Dr. Gentry. At least he was closer to Mackland Ames's age than Doogie Howser's.

"About forty minutes," Dean replied, still steadfast by his little brother's side.

Gentry asked about allergies and again the seventeen-year-old supplied the answer as well as blood type, birth date, and a list of other facts that had John sighing wearily.

"We should check you out, too." Caleb heard White say to Dean. The older Winchester sibling was shaking his head in refusal.

"Damn it, Dean!" John hissed. "Let them take a look at you."

"No, Dad. I'm fine."

Caleb turned to the older teen. "The faster you give in, Deuce, the faster you're going to get to see Sammy again." Dean's gaze was defiant; despite the fact the kid looked ready to crash. The psychic sighed and softened his voice. "I'm sure the doc can arrange for you to go to the same exam rooms." Reaves looked at White. "Right?"

"Yeah. That won't be a problem."

Finally, Dean nodded. "You coming?"

Caleb started to nod, somewhat heartened by Dean's request, but John stopped him. "You stay here and handle the paperwork."

Fake ID's and insurance cards were thrust into Caleb's hands along with a stack of forms as he was shoved towards a waiting area. He heard John mumble to the nurse his _brother_ would fill out the necessary papers as the older hunter allowed himself to be guided to a wheelchair that would take him to be with his sons.

So much for forgiveness. Caleb sighed, put the papers down on a chair and went in search of a payphone. They all needed Mac here.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Dean could feel the pull of the drugs coursing through his system, trying to drag him into a state of oblivion where the pain would mercifully disappear. But it would also take him away from his little brother. Sam needed him more than Dean needed rest, despite what the doctors, his father, and his body were telling him. Still, he compromised by laying his head down on his folded arms resting on the rails of the hospital bed.

He could still see his brother this way. Sam merely looked asleep. Dean glared at the machinery attached to the boy, he once again wished this all was another strange dream. But no matter how many times he had tried, his blurry vision told the same story. He was still in ICU, holding Sam's cold, unresponsive hand, and nothing he said or did could elicit even a flinch from his kid brother.

It was driving him fucking insane.

The pounding in his head and the encroaching fog from the painkillers weren't helping matters. Just when he thought he might give into it all and kill something, or someone, or even worse, _cry_, he heard the creek of his brother's door being opened.

Dean decided to feign sleep in case it was the nurse from Hell coming to drag him back to his dungeon. But the very familiar sigh and tell-tale stealthy steps, marred slightly by the aid of a crutch had Dean breathing a little easier.

"Son?" John Winchester ghosted his fingers through Dean's hair. "Ace?"

The seventeen-year-old raised his head. "Dad?"

"You need to let me take you back to your own room, kiddo. You're really starting to wear thin on some of the staff's nerves. You know the ICU has rules."

"You mean I'm wearing on Attila, the RN's nerves."His weary green eyes returned to his younger brother's face. "Screw her. I'm staying."

It wasn't often Dean refused his father, but when he did it almost always involved Sam in some way. John took the chair next to Dean, leaned his crutches against the wall. "The doctor is going to come and kick you out."

"I took their damn medicine." Dean waved his hand in the air, the one connected to the IV drip, hanging on the pole attached to his wheelchair. "What more do they want?"

John rested his elbows on his knees. "There's nothing you can do here, Dean."

"I can be with him." Dean turned away from his father, tightened his grip on Sam's hand. "I can be here when he wakes up."

"You have a concussion, son. Three broken ribs, torn tendons, ligaments and a dislocated knee. Bruises and contusions from head to toe. You need rest."

"What I need is for you and everyone else to get off my case!" Dean felt a little ill as the words slipped unbidden from his tongue. His father's face reddened in anger and Dean choked out the next words. "What I need, Dad, is for Sammy to fucking wake up…and be his usual smart mouth self so I can tear him a new one for being so freakin' stupid."

John bit his lip to keep from snapping back. After all, he understood how his oldest son felt. They were both nearing their wit's end. Ten hours had passed since they'd been rushed into the ER. Six-hundred minutes of prodding and poking. Thirty-six thousand seconds of stitches and sutures, X-rays, and countless other tests, and still-Sam had not awoken. He hadn't moved, flinched, or tossed and turned like he did in regular sleep. It was unnerving, down-right terrifying. And the Winchesters didn't scare easily.

Dean was stressed and hurt more than he wanted to let on. John had talked to Dean's assigned doctor. He had graphically explained how lucky his eldest was not to be having surgery on what could have been a ruptured spleen, a punctured lung, and damaged kidneys. Still-busted ribs, bruised organs and a dislocated knee were bad enough. But none of it seemed to faze Dean at all.

Instead he'd flinched as the doctors had taken Sam's blood, winced with every failed try at an IV, and gotten teary-eyed when needles were strategically placed to test for Sam's level of unconsciousness. Sometimes the connection Dean had to his brother worried John.

"I'm not going to ask you again, Dean," John said, softly, but in a way that let the boy know he meant business. "It's time to go." It was reminiscent of the way he talked to Dean as a toddler.

Dean's eyes widened. His muscles although sluggish and impaired, tensed for battle. "What are you going to do, Dad? Knock me out?"

"He might not, but I will." The voice startled both Winchesters, revealing just how exhausted they were to have let a mere human sneak up on them. "I'm in charge of the good drugs."

Dr. Ryan White stood at the foot of Sam's bed, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes glaring at the teen. He didn't look much older than Dean, his longish blond hair and boyish smile had worried John when they'd first been introduced. Somehow old and haggard seemed to equal wise and weathered where physicians were concerned. "You were given orders to visit for ten minutes and then return to bed."

Dean actually looked amused, apparently leaning towards his father's evaluation of the other man. "I don't take orders very well."

"Obviously." White glanced to John, leaned his hip against the rails, and yawned widely; loosing whatever little credibility he had gained. "Nurse Meyers doesn't usually take no for an answer."

"I hate to break it to you, Doc, but Nurse Meyers is a bitch."

"Dean," John reprimanded, resisting the urge to slap the boy on the back of the head. "Language."

"He's right, actually." Ryan smiled, erasing some of the weariness from his young features. "The first week I was an intern here she wrote me up ten times, and two of those were for looking at her the wrong way."

"I'm surprised you didn't turn to stone."

White laughed slightly. "Believe it or not, she's one of the best nurses we have. That's why she's worked this ICU longer than you've been alive, and it's also why she has so much pull in this place." The doctor raised an eyebrow at Dean. "Enough pull to get you banned from seeing your brother if you don't play by the rules-her rules."

That seemed to work where everything else had failed. "I'm sorry." The teen's voice caught slightly and he silently cursed the drugs flowing through his system, weakening his defenses. "I just needed to know that he was okay."

Ryan nodded. "Believe me, I get that. I have a kid brother, too. But, Dr. Gentry tells me your brother's prelims came back clean-at least the CAT scan and the MRI. That's good news."

John nodded. "They didn't detect any bleeding, at least not any major enough to pick up on in the tests they did."

"They've scheduled him for an angiogram?"

John hesitated, glancing to Dean before nodding again. "Yeah, they said it might reveal more information-like if there are any aneurisms, or blockages."

"What?" Dean turned accusing eyes on his dad. "You didn't tell me that. What the hell is an angiogram?"

"Take it easy." Ryan looked at Dean. "It's a test to look at the blood vessels of the brain. They use a catheter to inject die into the main artery leading to the…"

"I get the picture. Graphic." Dean snapped, turning his gaze to Sam once more. "The cliff notes would have worked just fine, thank you very much."

"The neurologists here are very good. Your brother's in good hands." Ryan shook his head slightly. "Although, I got to say, you must have some pretty influential ties. I would have brought in a ringer, too, if I had those kinds of resources."

The two Winchesters exchanged looks. "What do you mean?" John asked.

"I mean Dr. Gentry was pretty surprised when he got the records request. I think he thought it was a joke until the phone call."

John shook his head. "Who requested my son's records?"

"Dr. Mackland Ames," Ryan replied with a slight frown. "You know him, right?"

John glanced at his unconscious son. "Yeah, he's a family friend."

Ryan whistled. "The man's a genius. He dropped off the medical charts, no pun intended, years ago. I read about him in med school though. The things he could do on an operating table were the stuff of legends. . ."

"He's coming here?" John ignored the physician's rambling, still puzzled by the turn of events.

"The whole hospital is buzzing about it." Ryan pinned Dean with a look. "Which means, that your brother is going to get the best of care, and then some. But getting back to the reason I came up here, I can tell you about _your_ condition."

When he had both the father and the son's attention, he continued on, "Those ribs are nothing to brush off, and just because your kidneys are only badly bruised, internal bleeding, no matter how slight, isn't something to take lightly. I also want you off that knee or else surgery is a real possibility. So either your Dad needs to sign an AMA, or I want you back in your room. Because as your acting physician, I'm not going to be too happy when my boss comes gunning for my ass when you end up in an O.R. or worse, in the morgue downstairs. And that would be damn embarrassing to explain to the likes of Dr. Mackland Ames. I don't want to look like a complete rookie in front of the man."

Dean blinked, the doctor's face swimming in and out of focus. "Your concern is touching. Absent on the day they covered bedside manner?"

"Nah, just flunked that section." He yawned again and pushed away from Sam's bed. "I'll be right outside when you two decide." Ryan started for the door and then stopped, turning back to face Dean. "I'll make you a deal, though. If you sleep through the night, I'll let you come back up here in the morning. Meyers's shift is up at five."

Dean didn't get a chance to reply as the doctor turned and left the room. As soon as he was gone the seventeen-year-old turned to his father. "Dad?"

"No," John said, harshly. "You're going to your room, and that's a fucking order. I'm not going to have both my sons in danger."

"You put us in danger everyday." Dean was amazed at how anger and adrenaline could hold the drugs at bay.

"Not on purpose," John bit out.

"But…"

"You heard the man, Dean. I'm not signing your death warrant."

"Geez, I thought the drama queen of the family was out cold."

"I let your brother talk me into coming on that rescue. If you think I'm going to make the same mistake twice, you're not as bright as I thought you were."

Dean dropped his head and winced in reaction to aches in his chest. When he looked up, he saw a tiredness and a hint of dread in his father's face. "Caleb called Mac, didn't he?"

"I'm guessing."

"You think he can fix this?" Dean glanced over his shoulder to Sam.

John licked his dry lips, and raked a hand through his hair. "It depends on what _this_ is."

"But Mac's the best." Dean lifted his eyes to his father's, praying to see some spark of the reassurance he so desperately needed.

"Dean, this may not be some kind of medical problem. I hate that fucking psychic shit." It was too damn close to the dark side for John's taste. He loved Caleb, but saw the younger man struggle with his abilities. Then there was Sam to consider…

Dean blinked again. His father was getting off the subject, but revealing something important "Dad, does Sam have abilities?"

"What?" John asked, harshly, unable to hide the momentary lapse in his mask. "What are you talking about?"

Dean eased away from him, his eyes returning to rest on Sam's young face. "Never mind. It doesn't matter." And it didn't. Dean didn't care what Sam could or couldn't do. Caleb had abilities and so did Mackland. It didn't change the way Dean felt about them. All that mattered was Sam waking up.

John stood suddenly, grabbing his crutches. "Times up, son."

Dean reluctantly released Sam's hand, feeling the cold instantly reclaim it. He reached up, leaned forward and raked his fingers through Sam's hair, sensing his father's impatient gaze on him. "I'll be back, little brother," he whispered. "Just hang in there. Help's on the way."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnssnNRcJ_

They were hard to miss, sitting in the hospital cafeteria with all the other late night visitors. Neither man's back was to the door, a habit ingrained or perhaps instinctual to their rare breed. Sometimes it was hard for Mackland to admit that John's influence as his adopted son's mentor was as great if not more significant than his own when it came to Caleb.

The other occupants of the cafeteria had placed themselves as far away from John and Caleb as possible. Danger was something most humans unconsciously understood and respected, unwilling to put themselves in the midst of it. And these two men reeked of jeopardy.

Caleb's profile was easy to read. His head was lowered; his dark hair tied back, but somehow just enough of it escaping the confines to obscure his well-chiseled face. He was staring at his coffee, seemingly a million miles away, but if one knew him it was easy to see he was actually waiting, holding out for a perfect moment. His mentor was never easy to talk to.

John, in contrast, was lost in a book-his journal most likely, and from the dark circles beneath his eyes and the heavy growth of beard, he was obviously keeping himself occupied to avoid the much needed grasp of sleep- or to avoid the conversation the younger man was offering.

It was amusing to be the prey as both hunters lifted their gazes simultaneously to meet his. They stood as he approached the table. "I must say I've seen better looking specimens on cold, metal slabs."

"Some of us have to go into the trenches," John spoke first, the rare, genuine smile lifting years and miles of bad road from his features. He clasped Mac's hand and allowed the doctor to pull him into a rough embrace. "Some of us even get our hands dirty on occasion."

Mackland let him go, and pulled back slightly. "There's a difference in going into trenches and rolling in them." Ames glanced to Caleb. "You boys seem to have done some of the latter."

The doctor recognized the look on Caleb's face. The boy knew he was checking him over, searching for any signs of injury his son might have glossed over. Caleb smiled, a tactic that had garnered his way more often than not. "You know us, Dad. We like to throw ourselves in to whatever we're doing."

Mac reached out and squeezed the back of his son's neck, giving him a little shake. Despite the fake glibness, the doctor sensed turmoil. "Yes, son, I do know how you two are."

Mackland couldn't hold back the smile that crept onto his handsome face as Caleb rolled his eyes and reclaimed his seat.

"You made good time," John pointed out, also sitting down.

Mackland laughed, joining them. "Some of us actually use modern means of transportation on a regular basis, Johnathan. I flew. In something called a jet."

"Thanks for the clarification." John shook his head. "I thought Missouri might have let you borrow one of her broomsticks."

"I'm tempted to tell her you said that."

"But you won't."

Mac sighed. "Alas, no. The damn Brotherhood and all."

"Speaking of which, did you call Jim?" John's smile faded. As The Guardian of The Brotherhood Jim Murphy would need to be notified of what happened. He was also like family and John knew the pastor had a personal investment in the boys that went beyond his role in the secret organization.

Mackland was thoughtful. He hadn't wanted to worry Jim until he knew more about Sam's situation, but knew the pastor would want to be informed immediately. They were close, as The Triad should be with Mackland as The Scholar and John as The Knight. But they were very different. Sometimes John's unorthodox methods did not sit well with The Guardian, and Mac had been hesitant for that reason as much as any.

"He's on a hunt with Bobby," Ames replied. "I left a message with their contact, and he will pass it along."

"It's probably better he doesn't know until. . ." John began to state.

"Sam is still unconscious," Caleb interrupted. He wanted the pastor there too, but there were more demanding needs at the present.

"I know." Mac straightened his shoulders, adjusted his tie. "I received the records before I left." He looked at John and his face softened. "The tests they've done so far look positive, John. I didn't see any indication of regional or arterial damage."

John raked a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head slightly. "Then why the hell hasn't he woken up, Mac?"

Mackland's eyes sought out his son. "Tell me what happened."

The doctor made sure there were no hints of accusation in his tone, but he still saw the flash of guilt in Caleb's eyes. Mackland tried not to let his own concern and sympathy shine through. Caleb hated being treated like a child. Mackland was sure his son would rather have John yelling at him than his father coddling him.

"John and I were hunting a raw head."

Mac nodded, recalling the profile. "Raw heads-child predator mentality, Neanderthal type form."

Caleb nodded. "Yeah, cannibalistic pedophile sons of bitches..."

"Dean was taken by it when we went to rescue its latest victims," John interrupted, and then hesitated slightly as if the next words were sharp and sure to slice his tongue. "And Sammy...he... had a vision about where to find him."

Caleb looked across the table in surprise. Mackland understood his son's gesture.

John had not once admitted to his son's future capabilities. Mackland honestly never expected him to. A part of him understood. Coming into his own abilities late in life, watching Caleb struggle to control his…it was not a path he would choose for someone he loved. But Sam's path was already chosen. Sooner or later John would have to realize that.

"That was inevitable," Ames said softly, reverently. "Then what?"

"Then we hunted the bitch down." John growled. "Where we proceeded to land our sorry asses in a trap that a five-year-old Wolf scout could have avoided."

"And did," Caleb pointed out, only to receive a glare from his fellow hunter.

"Sounds about right." Ames smiled slightly to ease the punishment to their pride. "So you two rushed in to play hero and found yourselves in a mess." Mackland nodded to the crutches propped against John's chair. "That seems about right, too."

"Then_ I _had a vision." Caleb swallowed hard as Mac swung his gaze to him. "I watched that thing kill Sam, Dad. There was nothing we could do to save him."

"And you decided to project through Sam to confuse the raw?" His son had given him the shortened version over the phone.

Caleb nodded, his eyes reflecting the deep green of the jacket he was wearing instead of their usual intense, almost gold color. "That's what I meant to do, but when I connected with Sam things got tricky."

Mackland frowned. "How?"

Caleb glanced at John, licked his lips and then continued on quickly before he lost his nerve. "Sam put up barriers as if he was being attacked. So, I had to tear them down to gain the access I needed. Then when I did get through…" He paused. "I tried to hold back, only use enough to toss the raw head around, but I figured that putting it out of commission was better than confusing it. Maybe I pushed too hard..."

Mac laid a hand on his son's arm. "You did what you thought was right."

"And hurt Sam in the process." John was looking at Caleb now, a mixture of disappointment and betrayal on his face. "I trusted you."

"I didn't set out to hurt him. And don't look at me like I'm some fucking demon that came to rip his heart out in the dark of the night. It had nothing to do with _that_. Right, Dad? "

Mac dropped his gaze to his folded hands, staring at the simple silver ring on his right, middle finger. "Probably."

"What do you mean, probably?" Caleb asked, his face registering unexpected surprise.

John quickly picked up on what Mackland 'wasn't' saying. "Sam saw him as a threat and he fought." John felt bile rise to the back of his throat. "But why didn't he know it was Caleb?"

Mackland sighed, disliking the conclusions he was coming to, but needing to voice them just the same. Even if it hurt his son. "Memories are powerful. Perhaps Sam remembered something happening to him before." The doctor tilted his head. "Recognized a similar touch."

John looked at Caleb, who was growing paler by the minute. "He thought Caleb was the demon who killed Mary. Didn't he?"

"What?" Reaves stood, shoving his chair back, suddenly looking much younger than his twenty-four years. "Sam thought I was the fire demon?"

"On some level, probably," Mackland replied, softly. "He didn't recognize _you_, Caleb"

"But he recognized me for what I am."

"No!" Mackland stood, lowering his voice as he sensed some of the other patrons looking their way. "You are not a demon, or in anyway demon-like."

"Don't." Reaves held up his hand, backed away, repulsed by the idea he had come to Sam as some kind of demonic representation similar to the demon that attacked him when he was a baby. "Just don't, Mac."

Mackland reached out to his son, but Caleb ignored him and rushed out of the cafeteria. Ames hesitated, torn whether to go after his son to provide comfort, or stay with John to discuss his youngest son.

"Does that mean that Sam was hurt by the first demon?"

The fear in John's voice and the complete look of helplessness in The Knight's eyes made Mackland's decision for him. He knew his friend had always found it some kind of blessing he'd reached his son in time before the bastard had touched him.

Mackland looked fleetingly at the door, then to John. He sank down in his seat. "I believe the demon was after something, Johnathan. He probably plundered through Sam's mind, searching for God knows what, leaving something akin to fingerprints on glass."

"Prints that were similar to Caleb's?"

Mac's eyes grew stormy. "The same Caleb who you've known for twelve years, who you've watched grow into a young man, trained, protected, and who if I'm not mistaken has saved your sons on several occasions."

John pounded a fist on the Formica table. "I know that, damn it. I love the kid…would die for him without a thought. I'm not saying that he did this on purpose, but it happened just the same. Maybe..."

"Don't." Mac held up his hand. "That's _my_ son. He would rather sacrifice himself then let anything happen to your boys."

"I just want to fix this, damn it!"

Mackland drew in a calming breath. Sometimes John had tunnel vision. If he wanted to avenge someone or save someone that mission became his entire focus. Often times to the detriment of those around him, those trying to assist him in his battle. "I know you do, but sometimes in your rush to protect someone you love, you're very willing to sacrifice someone else."

John glared at the other man, recognizing the familiar battle. Mackland was constantly reminding him of his duties to his sons, to The Brotherhood, to his role as The Knight. "Are you trying to bring up the way I raise Dean or are you talking about the way I handle your son."

"Perhaps both."

Winchester rolled his eyes. "Dean's fine. Caleb's fine. Sammy, on the other hand is unconscious-having suffered God knows what."

"I know you're worried. We all are. But looking for something to blame, something to kill, isn't going to solve this problem."

"Then what is?" John sighed, frustrated. "Tell me what to do."

Mac held the hunter's gaze for a long moment. "I haven't seen Sammy yet, John, so I don't know for sure, but I've seen cases like this before- in my research."

"With spoon benders?" John scoffed, not bothering to hide his contempt.

Ames took a deep breath trying to reign in his temper. "In some cases the person with psychic ability puts up shields, instinctively. Like Caleb explained. Sam's brain _was_ protecting him, but Caleb continued to push, frightening Sam further, causing him to put up even more shields and barricades." Mac rubbed at his brow again. "He might have protected himself too well."

John's frown deepened, but he was listening. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Sam may have blocked Caleb out, but locked himself _in_."

"But why can't he let himself out?" John felt his chest tighten.

Mackland shrugged. "He may not realize that he's his own captor, or he might still feel unsafe. Or, it could be that he just doesn't have the ability to purposively undo what he instinctively did while in survival mode." When John looked confused, Mac sought a tangible example. "Like when a baby that is tossed in water, automatically knows how to swim, but wouldn't ever choose to do so or even know how to do so, if it weren't necessary to keep from drowning."

John rubbed a hand over his beard. "So, Sammy's trapped."

"That's my educated guess."

"But is that safe?"

"The mind is a mystery, my friend, with the amazing ability to create worlds within worlds. I can only hope Sam is somewhere safe."

John held his friend's gaze. "And just how do we get to him?"

"_We_ don't." Mac hinted at a smile, imagining John going in behind enemy territory after his son with gun's blazing. He hated to break it to him, but he doubted John would get very far on this battlefront. "But someone he trusts completely may be able to."

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling his weariness tug at him. "Dean."

Mackland's smile grew as he thought of the teen. "And we both know how Dean loves the _freaky Force shit, _as he so eloquently calls it."

John nodded, his face set in a determined grimace. "But he'll do anything for his brother."

"All that classical conditioning pays off." Ames couldn't resist, and smiled as the dig registered on the other man's face. "You know, I once bet Jim a fifty dollar contribution to the church that you carried a bell with you."

The hunter shook his head. "Smart ass."

"Well do you?"

John snorted. "I wish it were that easy."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

"She's easy on the eyes," Caleb commented as Dean's nurse left the room as he entered. "Nice ass, too." He smiled at the younger man, and waggled his eyebrows. "Maybe she'll give you a sponge bath, Deuce." Caleb had needed a safe refuge, a place to lick his wounds.

Dean rolled his eyes; slightly annoyed the woman had practically drooled all over Caleb's scuffed work boots, but didn't bite at the typical banter. "She's not my type."

Caleb shrugged, walked over and sat in the chair by the bed. Dean didn't look well and it only added to the psychic's guilt. "Mac's here." he announced. "He'll fix this, kid."

"I hope so."

"I just came from seeing Sammy, and thought I'd stop by to fill you in, but if you want me to go..."

Dean sat up straighter in the bed and winced as his ribs protested. "How'd he look? Is he okay? Has there been any change?"

Caleb put his feet up on the bed, and leaned back in the chair. "No change. He's still sleeping like a baby."

"He's not sleeping." Dean sighed in disappointment, rubbing his stinging eyes. "Sam's never that still when he's sleeping."

Caleb laughed. "I know." Sleeping in the same vicinity of Sam was like trying to sleep with a cat in a paper bag.

"Can you get any kind of reading from him?"

The soft question brought his gaze up to the teen, startled the other boy would even suggest it after the angry confrontation in the car. "I didn't try." Caleb would **not **attempt it, especially after what Mac had told him.

"You said Mac was here?"

"He and Johnny are catching up."

"So why aren't you with them?" Dean asked with more than a hint of frustration. "Why aren't you all trying to come up with something to help Sammy?"

Caleb bristled. "I think I've done enough. Don't you?"

"Is that self pity, I hear?" Dean scoffed. "Not a good look for you, Damien." Dean's breath was coming in harsh pants. The effort of his lungs to push enough oxygen out was taking its toll. "He looks up to you."

"He picked the wrong guy." Caleb was enjoying the pity party.

"I don't think so. . ." Dean wheezed, then slumped back against the mattress as his over-taxed body responded to the punishing rush of adrenaline. He squeezed his eyes shut, cursed the pain-produced tear that dared to escape down his face. "Damn it." He gasped, clenching his fists in the blanket covering him as his chest tightened, an invisible elephant suddenly thrust upon him.

"Hey?" Caleb's voice was close now, full of concern. "Dean?" The older hunter wrapped his fingers around Dean's forearm above his bandaged wrists. "Take it easy. I'll get the doctor."

"NO!" Dean's eyes opened, and he latched onto Caleb's hand. "He…won't…let me go see…Sammy." Dean's line of sight went to the clock and then back to the other hunter. "The Hun's almost off."

Caleb frowned, worried about the nonsense statement, his free hand paused just above the call button. "But…"

"I'm good," Dean managed, closing his eyes again. He released Reaves. "Really. Damien, chill."

Caleb moved away from the bed raking both his shaking hands through his hair. "Fuck!" He hated seeing Dean hurt and feeling helpless to do anything. "Just...Fuck!"

"Remember…when…Jim washed my mouth out with soap for saying that?" Dean whispered, weakly, still having to work too hard to pull in his breaths, but needing to change the focus to redirect Caleb's attention.

"How could I forget?" Caleb said wearily, dragging one hand down his face, feeling the rough five o'clock shadow beneath his sensitive digits. "You were what-eight? That was the first time I'd seen Jim get his back up. Man, he can be scary when he wants to be."

"He…made you memorize those verses from the Bible." Dean opened his eyes and smirked at the other hunter. "You had to recite it at dinner that whole week in front of everybody."

Caleb nodded, grimly. He stood by the bed again, resting his hands on the rails. "The ones about Judas. The old man knew I put you up to dropping the F-bomb even if I wouldn't admit it. Jim might as well have come right out and asked me if I had thirty pieces of silver."

Dean pinned the other man with a hard stare. "Jim's big…on loyalty."

Caleb leaned forward. The older hunter glanced down at the silver ring on his finger. "I am too. I swear Dean, I'll make this right."

"I know you were trying to help, and I know you didn't hurt Sammy on purpose." When Caleb glanced up, Dean nodded. "Or am I going to have to beat this into you?"

Caleb couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "You could try."

"Tell yourself whatever you need to, Damien."

Reaves flinched. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was making a quick comeback. "Can we drop the demon spawn nickname for a while, Dude?"

Dean frowned. "It's never bothered you before."

Caleb held his questioning gaze. "Just give it a rest. Please?"

"Okay." Dean smirked. "You're not getting sensitive in your old age are you, _Caleb_? Because the first time you try to get me to hang out in a coffee bar or listen to some bad poetry, I'm finding a new friend."

"Cute." Caleb rolled his eyes. "You really should take your show on the road."

"Nah, sexy comics just don't cut it."

"I'm sure you could make Nurse Hot Body laugh." Caleb grinned. "Especially if you let her see you naked."

"Fuck you, Reaves."

"Language." Mac and John entered the hospital room, and Dean and Caleb looked up.

"What can I say?" Dean shrugged. "Caleb brings out the best in me."

Caleb moved back to the chair, avoiding the twin gazes he could feel on him.

"Yet another talent he shares with your father." Mackland shook his head, coming to stand by Dean's bed. "I think I should have limited Caleb's exposure to John during the boy's formative years."

Dean smiled when he heard his father groan, right along with the disgusted grunt of denial from Caleb. "It's good to see you, Mac. Have you figured out how to help Sammy yet?"

The older man smiled at Dean's one track mind. He might as well have rung a bell. He could almost imagine Dean salivating at the chance to rescue his baby brother. "Actually, I was hoping that you could help me with that."

RcJ


	8. Chapter 8

Heroes Revisited

Chapter 8

Beta: Tidia from vacation!

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

_**Sometimes ordinary men must do what heroes cannot. –Quintin Schnehage**_

"You want me to what?" Dean looked from his father to Mac. They were both standing near his bed, and the mattress dipped slightly as Ames sat down near him.

The doctor patted his leg. "It's not as strange as it sounds, Dean. Caleb will help you. It'll be sort of like meditating."

"On crack." Caleb snorted, Dean glared at him.

Mackland ignored his son's interruption. "The process is very similar to astral projecting, or dream sharing. Caleb tells me that you've already done some of that."

Dean frowned. "I dreamed about Sam, or he dreamed about me, but I was unconscious. In case you haven't noticed, Mac, I'm not exactly gifted in this shit."

"You don't have to have abilities Dean-just a connection with your brother." The older man grinned. "You definitely have that and _that _is a power all its own."

Dean held the other man's gaze, and Mackland knew the boy was reading him in his own way. Dean didn't trust easily, but the doctor was certain the teen knew he would never intentionally mislead him. He also knew that Dean trusted Caleb implicitly. It would aid in the process. "What do I have to do exactly, Magnum?"

Ames grinned, his mustache twitching slightly, dimple showing. Dean liked to tease him. With a Hawaiian-print shirt and a Ferrari he could pass as Thomas Magnum, eighties TV detective extraordinaire. "You just have to relax and focus on Sam. When the time is right Caleb will guide you through the rest."

"When can we start?"

"As soon as possible." It was John who answered, never one to wait, especially when one of his own was in jeopardy.

"What?" Caleb looked at him, standing up from his relaxed pose against the wall. "Maybe you should give it another day. See if Sam wakes up on his own.".

"It's been fourteen fucking hours, Caleb," John snapped. "We don't know what could be happening, what he's going through, or how much damage this could be causing."

"Damage?" Dean's eyes widened and he looked to Mac. "Do you think Sammy's hurt? You said he was just trapped-unable to pull himself out of this?"

Mackland sighed. He wished John had an ounce of tact, a minuscule of patience. "I haven't seen Sam yet, son. I'm not sure of anything at this point."

"I know you, Mac," John said.

Mackland took it as an accusation. "And that means?"

"It means you're pretty damn sure of what's going on, and it has you worried, or you wouldn't have jumped a flight here as fast as you did. Brotherhood or not."

Mac bit his lip, his eyes unconsciously going to John's hands, where the only ring present was one from a promise made to his long dead wife. He tried to understand Winchester's reluctance to wear the symbol that bound them together, but when John questioned 'his' loyalty it was rather difficult. "I came because I was needed. I came for Samuel."

"Then do what you're here to do. Don't beat around the bush."

"I'm not one to rush in, Johnathan." Ames stood slowly, glancing at the other man's damaged ankle. "I like to avoid pitfalls where someone could get hurt."

"Maybe Dad's right. Maybe we should do this now." All Dean's hesitation had seemed to flee at the perceived threat to his brother. "I'll do whatever it takes, Mac."

The doctor nodded. "I know you will, Dean." John's damn conditioning ensured that.

"But maybe he shouldn't." Caleb spoke up again and Dean growled in frustration. "Maybe _we_ shouldn't."

Mackland could understand his son's concern. Not only was he certain Caleb was doubting himself, Dean was a mess. Ames reached out and ran his trained fingers over the massive bruises on the side of teen's forehead. The blues and purples bled down from his hairline where the impressive hues were hidden by dark, blond tresses to splatter in full color across his cheek. "We'll have to be careful."

"Ow." Dean winced. "Careful with the merchandise."

"You took a couple of hard blows to the skull, I see." Mackland released him, a contemplative frown on his face.

A couple had been more like five or six, but the teen shrugged. "I have a hard head."

Some of the worry lines softened and Mackland winked at Dean. The doctor jutted his chin slightly towards John. "That's a genetic trait, you know."

"Dr. White said he had a concussion when he came to talk to me in the waiting room," Caleb supplied, garnering twin glances of surprise from the Winchesters. "What? I'm family."

John shook his head." I don't care what he told my 'brother'. He told me Dean would be fine."

"After some down time," Caleb added with a little more force, and sent a challenging look in John's direction. "The brain isn't something to mess around with." He cut his eyes to Dean. "Deuce, this isn't as simple as it seems. There are some risks. . .you could be hurt worse."

Ames agreed with his son to a point, but John's reasons were also valid. "Dean, you have to understand that this isn't going to be a walk in the park. It will be work, and it could be painful, especially if you're injured in anyway up here." He tapped his own head. "Projection will activate parts of the brain you're not accustomed to using."

"But Sam needs me now."

Mackland ran a finger over his brow. "If Sam's condition is what we believe it to be, acting quickly would be the best action."

"I'm all for acting quickly." John wrapped his hands around the bed rail. "What's going on in that massive brain of yours, Mac?"

"Shouldn't you be sitting down-elevating that leg?" Ames asked, gesturing to the empty chair. He made it quite clear his words weren't a question.

The oldest Winchester frowned, limped over to the chair and gingerly propped his foot up on the mattress. "Satisfied, doc?"

Mackland smiled. "Now, as I was saying, it's dangerous to leave Sam in this condition because like any state of deep unconsciousness, the longer one remains the more risk of complications. Other body systems, like the renal and the respiratory, may shut down, causing the need for life support."

"Life support?" Dean paled.

"And then there's the brain itself. If Sam is focused in one area, stimulating it, then circulation and electrical synaptic activity in that area may deprive other sections of precious oxygen and blood flow."

"Causing brain damage?" John queried out loud and Ames nodded. The oldest Winchester raked his hands through his hair. "God damn it," he snapped. "Just do something, Mac." He'd heard enough. "We get the picture."

"I want to do this," Dean said, fiercely, looking first to the doctor and then holding his father's gaze.

John looked to Mackland. "It's not like Dean will actually be in physical danger, right?" He made a gesture towards his own head. "I mean it's a mental process. It'll all be happening in his head."

"And everything I did was happening in Sam's head." Caleb stepped forward closer to the bed. Mackland wasn't sure if his son realized he had placed himself between Dean and the two older hunters, or if it were second nature. Either way Caleb's countenance was determined. "You see how that turned out."

Dean reached out and caught Reaves's sleeve giving it a hard tug that had Caleb reluctantly facing him. "And you did it because you had no other choice, right? This is the same kind of thing, man."

"We have a choice. We can wait. Give Sammy a chance to come out of this on his own." Reaves shook his head. Dean didn't understand what he was asking of him. "You're all gung ho to throw yourself in front of a bus, as usual, but how do you think Sam is going to feel about that if he wakes up as an only child?"

"Better than him not waking up at all," Dean shot back, anger making his voice tremble slightly.

"What are the dangers?" John asked pulling Mac from Dean and Caleb's argument.

"Let's see, stroke, hemorrhaging…" Caleb started listing possible outcomes.

John shot him a heated look. "I was talking to the _doctor_."

"I'm doing it," Dean stated, bringing all eyes back to him. "I don't care what might happen to me."

"Deuce…," Caleb tried again.

Dean interrupted him. "Sam's lost, Caleb, and probably scared-maybe hurt. He'll be waiting on me." He turned his earnest, green gaze back to Ames. "I have to try."

Mac felt both boys' silent pleas, each wanting him to side with them- to see their dilemma. It was hard to consider everyone into the equation when Caleb's gaze held more than a hint of fear and hurt. But in the end he had to do what was best for them all. "Then let's go see Sam."

The visit to see Sam had been easier this time around because like Dr. White had promised, Attila the Hun was off for at least twelve hours, and everyone else was in awe of Dr. Mackland Ames. They paid little attention to the fact that a seriously injured, limping patient was in the hall in the wee hours of the morning.

Dean quickly reclaimed residence by his brother's bed, moving his braced leg so it was tucked under the bed. He took the brief moments before Mac began his examination to try one last time to reach his brother the old fashioned way. "Damn it, Sam! Open your eyes," he whispered, laying his hand on the other boy's head. "You're just bound and determined to make me do this the hard way, huh?"

Sam remained still, and Dean rubbed at his eyes, looking from all the machinery back to his little brother. "What'd I tell you about running off on your own, kiddo?" Dean let his hand move from Sam's forehead to slide through his soft hair, biting his lip to keep the frustration and lack of sleep from getting the best of him. "This is all your fault, Sammy. I hate this freaky Force shit, and now I'm going to have to play Yoda's mind games just to get you back"

"So, I'm Yoda, huh?" Mackland casually glanced in Dean's direction. "Couldn't I have at least been Obi Wan?"

"Caleb likes to think he's Obi Wan," Dean explained with a shrug. "But Yoda taught him everything he knew."

"I hope your confidence in me is deserved, _Solo_," Mac's mustache twitched as his tactic garnered the smile he'd been hoping for, albeit weary and small. "I guess Sam is our young Jedi in training?"

The tainted smile faded out completely, and Ames didn't miss the fact that Dean tightened his grip on Sam's hand.

"So, your Dad's the hairy fellow then?" Mackland turned on his penlight and examined each of Sam's eyes. "What's his name? Chewbacca?"

Dean was quiet and Mackland clicked his light off and looked at him.

"No. Dad's Vader."

The doctor held the boy's gaze, unsure if the teen was joking. But it didn't take long for it to become obvious he was doing neither. "I see." It might have been the most honest the boy had ever been with him, and the doctor suddenly yearned for the mask Dean usually wore to slip back into place. "And the Emperor?" Mackland couldn't help but to wonder if that spot was held by whatever had taken Mary Winchester.

"Who knew you were such a Star Wars geek, Mac."

"I'm somewhat of a fan. I haven't lived with Caleb all these years and not absorbed some useless pop culture."

Dean's eyes returned to his brother. "Sam loves all the movies. We've seen them about a hundred times. He dressed up as Skywalker three years in a row for Halloween."

"Every boy needs a hero."

Dean licked his lips, his eyes lingering on Sam's face. "Yeah."

"Sammy's lucky enough to get to grow up with his."

The teen looked up. "I'm no hero, Mac."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, son."

"What's happening to my brother, Mac?"

"I told you, Dean. He's put up defenses, locked himself away…" Mackland gestured to the unconscious teen.

"I mean with…" Dean didn't know what to call it. "With all this dream stuff. How did Sam come to me when I was with the raw?"

Mac sighed. "Dean, these questions are not mine to answer."

"I can't protect him from something I don't understand," Dean said angrily. "He's going through something, and he won't talk to me, and Dad won't talk to me, and even Caleb's tight-lipped, so that leaves you, or Jim, and Jim's not here."

"Do you really want to know something that you might have to keep from your brother? Think about that before you answer. I know you have your suspicions, your intuition, but that's different than being a part of something that could hurt Sam in the future. He'll need someone to turn to when it seems everyone else has betrayed him."

"Are you betraying him?" Dean swallowed hard unsure how he would handle the answer if it was the one he didn't want to hear.

"No." Mackland shook his head. "We are protecting him."

"Was that Dad's decision?"

The silence was the only answer Dean needed. "I hope you all know what you're doing, because if anything happens to him…"

Dean let the threat trail off as John and Caleb entered the room. "I've signed the necessary paperwork," the oldest Winchester informed them. He made his way to his youngest son's side. He brushed the back of his hand over the boy's cheek. "His doctor made me sign one of those damn AMA things."

Mac nodded. "It's basic procedure. They want to keep their butt's out of the sling, just in case."

"Well, it's the just in case that I don't like."

"Sometimes we have to make hard decisions." Mac glanced at Dean. "And hope they are for the best."

Dean held the doctor's gaze for a moment before looking at his father. "As long as it's the best decision for Sam."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Sam had done this all on his own. He had wanted nothing more than to be independent of his family, out from under his big brother's watchful eye-to be grown up. But he didn't feel grown up. He felt small and scared. Vulnerable. All those things he'd feared when he'd been so determined to push Dean away to sever his safety net.

And here he was, swinging in the wind. All by himself. But not alone. The fire was there. It had found him despite all his hopes of escape.

Just like in his childhood nightmare the beast chased him through the night into the old house where it reached for him, seared his mind with its intrusion and burned his arms with its vicious touch.

Sam tried to fight, but it was relentless. It forced him deeper and deeper into the old, gutted structure of the house. Dean wasn't there to wake him up or pull him into a comforting embrace. He couldn't whisper to Sam everything would be okay. For all Sam knew, Dean was gone forever; killed by the raw he had been fighting before everything had gone black.

So Sam ran until a voice had called to him from the emptiness, telling him to go somewhere safe. It was a woman's voice and the scent of honeysuckle and daisies filled his senses, giving him a trail to follow in the darkness.

The door was unlike the others in the old house. It was pristine, unmarred by the flames. The door was white with a large brown bear painted on it. A bear with butterflies and honeybees buzzing around its head, its large paws buried in a honey jar. Sam recognized it as his old kindergarten classroom, but didn't have time to question the oddness of it or the newest facet in his twisted nightmare.

Sam heard the fire crackling close behind him. With only a slight touch of the knob the door swung open, revealing a cheerful room painted a sunny yellow with daisy trim, and tiny empty desks in five tight rows.

He quickly entered, closed and locked the door behind him. It rattled and shook, as the fire monster tried to breach the newfound sanctuary, sending Sam farther into the room to safety

Large cutout, laminated letters curved in an arch above the small alcove. _The Bear's Den. _Memories flooded him. The thirteen-year-old surged forward, hearing the scratching and digging at the door behind him.

Sam weaved through the cooking and shopping play centers around books and board games to find himself in front of the large papier-mâché boulders at the entrance to the class coatroom. He pushed aside some of the branches from the fake trees, and slipped inside, his heart catching as he caught sight of the bear-skin rugs and familiar bean bags scattered amongst discarded coats and backpacks.

Even Stellaluna was there, resting near the painted stream. Sam felt himself fall to his knees. His heart was starting to calm, and his breath evened out as he wrapped his fingers around the soft fur of the stuffed bat. One thought rushed through his mind as he brought the animal to his chest.

His brother would come. Dean would find him. Just like before. Just like always. His big brother would fix everything.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

"So, big brother is going to fix everything?" Caleb asked, casually fingering the corner of the blanket covering Sam. His eyes were on Dean though.

Mackland had worked his magic, convinced the other doctors to release Sam from ICU, and move him. So now the thirteen-year-old and all the equipment monitoring him had been brought to Dean's room where the world-renowned Dr. Ames would take over his care.

"That's the plan," Dean replied, his gaze affixed to Sam's pale features.

"Just be careful. Don't throw yourself in front of that bus if you can just as easily pull you and Sammy up on the sidewalk." Caleb wasn't please he was being forced to be a part of a plan that willingly put the Winchester brothers in danger, especially when Dean was so gung ho about the damn thing.

Dean raised an eyebrow, and his mouth twitched. "You worried, Damien?"

"If I get gray hair at an early age, I'm blaming you." Caleb pushed his hair off his face.

"It could be a whole new look for you. Very Pepe LePew." Dean grinned.

"I mean it, Dean." Caleb looked at him. "You never listen to me, and honestly I think half the time you just do the opposite of what I say to piss me off."

Dean frowned, unsure of how the conversation had taken such a turn. "No, I don't."

"Yeah, you do, like when I told you to stay put back when we were trailing the raw."

"Geez, how many times have I got to say it, I heard a noise. The bastard got the drop on me."

"Uh huh, and how about the time when you were like nine, and I told you not to go near that beehive on Jim's farm?"

Dean's mouth twitched again. "I didn't go near it. I just had an amazing pitching arm even then."

"The words were barely out of my mouth when the whole damn nest was falling at our feet."

Dean grinned. "That hurt like a bitch."

"You nearly died."

"Who knew I was allergic?"

Caleb shook his head in frustration. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"And it really doesn't suit you, man. Plus, _we_ don't do serious."

"Yes, we do serious when you get hurt." Caleb sat down in the chair near Sam's bed and picked up a discarded magazine. "Just be careful, damn it."

Dean sighed. "So, what's it going to be like?"

Caleb read the slight nervousness in the green gaze staring at him. Dean wasn't the only one on edge. "Projecting?"

Dean nodded.

The other man put the magazine down and shrugged. "Kind of like dreaming, only things are more real, I guess." Caleb searched for a way to explain it. "Imagine being placed in a movie, where you don't really know what's going on, someone else is controlling the script, but you have to let it play out before you can get to the end."

"So, I'll be in Sam's version of whatever he thinks is going on?"

"Yeah." Caleb thought about his father's revelation of Sam perceiving him as the thing that had taken their mother. "And trust me he thinks things are pretty bad. Things won't be the way they appear, Deuce. But if they're real to Sam, then _you _experience what _he_ believes."

"Can I change things?"

"You mean project your own reality?" Caleb frowned. "I don't think so. I tried that when Sam was fighting me. It didn't work. It's better to play along. Look for clues."

Dean laughed. "I'm going to be Dorothy and Sam's the Wizard."

Caleb smiled despite the knot of worry unfurling in his gut. "Yeah. Just don't forget your ruby slippers. It'll be up to you to get you and Toto home safe. I won't be able to help." Sam would see him as a threat. As it was, Mac was going to have to be the bridge to the thirteen-year-old.

"What? No Glenda the Good Witch?"

"With the Winchester luck, I wouldn't count on it."

"Hey, what can I say, when you've got looks, brains and talent, not to mention kick-ass weapons, who needs something as undependable as luck." Dean shrugged his shoulders.

Caleb laughed. "Don't forget the car. The Impala at least gives you all a little class."

"That she does." Dean glanced at the clock again. "What the hell is taking them so long?"

"And here I was just thinking you had the patience of a saint."

"Yeah, why's that?"

"Dealing with the terrible teen." Caleb nodded towards Sam. "I remember when you were his age. A real pain in the ass when the hormones hit."

"He has his moments." Dean couldn't help but to remember the words he and Sam had exchanged before his brother left for camp. Sam said he hated him, and it hurt to admit that his brother might as well have ripped his heart out.

He couldn't stand the idea those words might be their last. It had been hard the last few months. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless as how to reach his brother, make things better between them. Everything he tried only seemed to drive Sam farther away. "He's not a baby anymore."

"No. But he's still your kid brother. He still has your back," Caleb said. "Don't ever doubt how he feels about you-no matter what the extra testosterone might say."

"Two serious conversations in one day." The teen raised a brow in surprise. "You getting sappy on me in your old age, Reaves?"

"No, just picking up the vibes." Caleb wiggled his fingers.

"What did Jim say about privacy?"

"It's only a suggestion which is never enforced." Caleb grinned. "Seriously, I saw how upset Sam was when you were missing. He let me and your dad have it pretty good. The old Sammy's still in there. He's just trying to figure it all out."

"Yeah. It was just easier when he was little."

"Wait until he gets taller than you."

Dean snorted. "Like that's ever going to happen."

"Stranger things have."

"Stranger things than what?" Mackland asked as he and John entered the room, carrying some Styrofoam cups of coffee, and a paper bag, which John tossed to Caleb.

"Stranger than John actually thinking of someone other than himself for a change," Caleb replied with a half-assed grin, digging into the bag of food.

"Where's mine?" Dean shot a disgruntled look in his father's direction.

"Sorry, Ace, Mac said no food, in case things go south."

Dean's brows drew together. "That's comforting."

"It's just a precaution," Mac supplied, sitting on the corner of Dean's bed. "Besides, I'm going to be putting you out for a while and it's never a good idea to have food on your stomach."

"Right." Dean relaxed against the pillows and let his arm fall across his face. "That makes me feel oh so much better."

"Really, Dean, it'll be okay, as long as you don't fight." Ames checked the I.V. port in Dean's arm. "I'm going to put you under to prevent most of that, but not too deeply due to the concussion you've already sustained. So you're going to have to work with us."

"Is that necessary?" Dean winced. "Can't I just stay awake? I've had Damien pilfering through my head before. It's never been a problem."

Mac looked up at him after applying another piece of tape over the puncture site. "I don't think it's a good idea, son. Your instinct may be to challenge any presence. Winchesters aren't known for easily giving up their control."

"Caleb connects to us easy enough."

"This is different, Dean. Those are usually on a conscious level, present in the moment. Delving deeper…well, it can be a bit of a shock." Ames patted Dean's blanket-covered knee. "The sedative will merely make your mind…more pliable for lack of a better word."

Dean frowned. "Damn, Mac, you make my brain sound like it's made of Silly Putty."

"Rock is more like it," Caleb interjected, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I suggested he use dynamite instead of Prince Valium."

"You're so funny. The first time you tried this Atticus fell in love with you."

Caleb used his finger as a retort.

"It might seem odd at first, but you should recognize Caleb-his touch-and your mind will represent him in a way you'll understand." When Dean frowned again, Mac smiled. "It's a psychic thing. We all have our own presence, kind of like a scent. For instance, I bet you know when Sam is in the room with you, without even seeing him, right? Or you know when he's awake, or asleep? You are aware of him on an essential level?"

The teen looked decidedly uncomfortable with the shift in conversation, and he shot a sidelong glance in his father's direction before answering. "Yeah." He shrugged. "I guess so."

Mackland nodded. "You're a hunter, Dean. You pick up on more than you think. For example, in wolf packs each dog is recognizable by scent. Some even believe that wolves and dogs have psychic abilities and are able to communicate telepathically. They know when one of their own is coming from miles away."

"They also sniff each others butts, but I don't see that happening here, Mac."

"Just go with it, Deuce," Caleb interrupted yet again. "Trust me; you'll recognize me, especially since you're expecting a visit."

The teen sighed. "So Super Psychic gets up close and personal with my unconscious and then what?"

"When Caleb connects with you, I want you to concentrate on Sammy. Think only of him."

Dean glanced to the bed where his baby brother was lying. "That I can do."

"That's when Caleb will give you a kind of mental boost, a jumpstart, per say. I'll make physical contact with Sam, acting as a type of conduit between you and Caleb and Sam. Does that make sense?

Dean licked his lips. "So, you'll be a bridge?"

"The yellow brick road," Caleb interjected. "Straight to Oz."

"Dean, once you make contact with Sam, you'll have to convince him that he's safe. It will be up to him to come out of hiding. You can't force him. Do you understand?"

Dean's brow furrowed. Lately, he'd been unable to convince his little brother of much, especially that he was safe. Sam didn't even trust him to share what was bothering him. "And what if he doesn't listen?"

"He'll listen to you, son," John spoke up, running a hand through Sam's hair. "You're his brother."

Mac smiled. "I agree. You may be the only one that can reach him."

"But, what if I can't find him?"

"I doubt if you'll have to. Like I was saying before, Sam will feel your presence. He'll find a way to lead you to him."

The teen nodded and Mackland held up the syringe and met his green gaze. "You ready?"

Dean swallowed hard and glanced up at Caleb. "I'm ready."

The doctor stood and injected the contents of the syringe into the I.V. "Just count backwards from ten."

The teen closed his eyes. "Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…" Dean's voice trailed off at four and his breath evened out.

Ames reached over and took Dean's pulse, glancing at John who had an anxious look on his face. "He's fine."

"Are you sure this will work, Mac?" John looked from Sam to his oldest son. "I can't lose them. Either of them."

"I think it's the best option we have."

"That's not an answer."

"There are no answers, Johnathan, not really-not about anything."

"How about we get this show on the road," Caleb spoke up, tossing the empty brown bag in the garbage and moving to stand by Dean's bed. "The sooner Deuce goes and gets Sammy, the better we'll all feel."

RcJ


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Beta: Tidia. Kudos for her use of the word diaphanous, which I love.

A/N: I used one of my favorite quotes in this part. It so seems to suit the boys. Thank you for all the reviews. I hope everyone is enjoying the changes.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

" _**To be loved deeply by someone gives you strength; to love someone deeply gives you courage."-Lao Tsu**_

He was dreaming.

At least that's how it seemed. There was a diaphanous feeling; the sense images weren't quite as sharp or solid as they should be. The missing pain in his ribs and mangled wrists were also giveaways he wasn't fully conscious. The fact he was sitting in a restaurant in Salt Lake City, Utah where he hadn't been in almost seven years was another indication Mac's plan had worked.

The diner was crowded, the smell of fried food hung in the air almost as heavy and oily as the grease layered on the Formica table top. A flash of color caught his eye and he glanced down to find a well-worn Spider Man comic resting beneath his fingers. _Sammy. _

Voices were mumbled and low around him, an annoying buzzing background noise. He couldn't understand anything being said, possibly because it wasn't important, but the metallic clang of the bell attached to the front door drew his attention immediately. And despite the sudden intense pain that flared behind his eyes, Dean felt a modicum of relief as Caleb entered the establishment his own freaky unconscious had conjured. The teen winced, squeezing his eyes shut to hold off the pressure building in his skull.

"Just breathe." Caleb's voice forced him to look up, and the tension eased considerably, allowing him to do as the older hunter said. "The pain will go away if you don't fight."

"How Jedi Knight of you, Obi Wan." Dean smirked, finding it quite humorous that Caleb was dressed in tan robes and sporting a light saber at his side. "You hop a ship from Tatooine?"

Caleb took a seat in the booth. "I'm just glad that I didn't emerge from a swamp all green and sporting pointy ears."

Dean rubbed at his head again and groaned. "Speaking of green, I feel like I could seriously hurl, and I haven't even eaten anything yet."

Reaves nodded. "Sorry, dude. It comes with the territory. Mac says it has something to do with temporal stimulation. It sucks, but it isn't fatal." Caleb smiled. "Although if you tell anyone about this get-up you conjured, I'll kill you."

"So-I'm asleep. Right?"

"Yeah. Like a baby." Caleb looked around the small restaurant. "I thought we might end up at a bar or strip joint."

Dean glanced around with a shrug. "I lost Sammy at this dive when he was about six. Actually, he was hiding from me, but it was the first time…" The teen hesitated.

"That you felt like you couldn't protect him," Caleb finished the teen's thought. "It makes a weird kind of sense you'd end up here." Reaves knew exactly where his unconscious would have taken them-to Griffin Porter's cabin on a snowy mountainside in North Carolina. He pushed the thoughts away. "So…you ready to do this?"

Dean felt uncomfortable as the reality of what was taking place sank in. "What happens now, Damien?" he asked to avoid thinking about the freakiness of the situation.

"Now you find Sam." Caleb held the teen's gaze. "I want you to think about him and nothing else. Where did you find him the last time you were here?"

Dean frowned. "In a supply closet in the women's restroom. Why?"

"Then that's where we'll start."

"You think he'll be there?" Hope flared in Dean's chest, wishing it was that easy.

Caleb's slight chuckle echoed his own thoughts. "No, but it will be a good place to cross that proverbial bridge we were talking about earlier. The mind doesn't do anything without a reason, Deuce." He gestured to his Star Wars attire. "Your unconscious is looking for a link to Sam."

Dean didn't understand one damn bit of what was going on, but he felt the need to find his brother with every fiber of his being. "Then let's take a trip to the little girl's room."

Caleb followed him out of the booth, past the other diners into the room marked _Broads. _The psychic groaned. "Tell me that wasn't your idea, dude."

Dean smiled. "No, that really was on the door back then."

"Tasteful place."

"Five stars in John Winchester's ratings."

Caleb smiled as he watched Dean step over to the wall and press on the wood, triggering the mechanism that would open the hidden door. "And _how_ long did it take you all to find Sammy?" Reaves was surprised he didn't remember the particular incident.

"Hours," Dean replied. "Although at the time it felt like days. Dad nearly killed me for losing the little shit."

"Yeah." Caleb's grin faded. He could imagine how his mentor would have reacted and understood all too well why Dean hadn't mentioned it. John tended to let his emotions rule him. He was fierce about everything whether it was protecting those he cared for or punishing those who had disappointed him. Caleb had been on the receiving end of both. "Maybe…"

Dean cut him off. "Damien, you can't change things in my reality. Remember?"

The older hunter sighed, slightly chagrined by the younger man's ability to read him so well. Caleb was the psychic after all. Reaves grudgingly accepted the truth and peered into the small utility closet. "I think this will work."

Dean rubbed his temples. "So, what do I do exactly?" He dropped his hands to his side when he realized Caleb was watching him with a look of concern.

"How's your head?"

Dean stepped back as the other man reached out to touch him. "I'm good."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Would you tell me if you weren't?"

"Let's do this." Dean gestured towards the closet. "Sam's waiting for me to come find him."

"Okay." Caleb felt unsure. It felt wrong, going against the grain, rebuking that tiny voice that had kept him out of a lot of trouble over the years. "I need for you to focus completely on Sammy." He nodded towards the closet. "Think about finding him as you go in."

Dean looked skeptical. "That's it?"

"I'll do the rest," Caleb assured. "You concentrate on Sammy and try to relax," he added, the gnawing worry in his gut grew. "Just think of it as your own personal Narnia wardrobe."

Dean's typical shit-eating grin appeared. "No problem, Obi Wan. I'll be back before the six suns of Tattooine set."

Caleb motioned the younger hunter into the tiny room with a wave of his arm. "You're mixing metaphors, smartass."

Dean started towards the closet, then hesitated. He looked at the older hunter. "Caleb, once I find Sam, how do we actually get out of all this?"

"Like I said, it will be up to you to convince Sam that he has to come out of hiding. All you need to do is to get _him_ to wake up, and this whole thing will be over." Reaves hoped it was that simple.

"Like a bad dream," Dean said thoughtfully.

Caleb nodded. "Exactly." He wanted nothing more than for this particular nightmare to be over. Reaves pushed his own fears aside and gave Dean a reassuring look. "You've pulled Sammy out of plenty of tight spots over the years. You can do this."

"Yeah. A piece of cake." The teen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay, Master. I'm ready."

The psychic watched Dean enter the closet. _Yeah. A piece of cake. _Caleb cleared his throat. "Remember what I said, Deuce. Get you both out of there as quickly as possible. No playing hero."

To Caleb's surprise Dean didn't give his typical wisecrack or mock the psychic's concern. Instead he met the older hunter's solemn gaze with one of his own. "If something goes wrong…I just want you to know…"

Reaves reached out and clasped the teen's forearm, felt Dean return his fierce grip. "Nothing's going to go wrong, Deuce." His lip twitched. "The Force will be with you."

Dean snorted and let him go. "Right. I don't know what I was thinking."

Caleb grinned. "But just in case…the feeling's mutual."

The teen shook his head. "Close the door, Damien."

Reaves did as the kid asked, finding the hollow sound of the latch catching too ominous. It had all the finality of a concrete tomb being sealed. The psychic laid both his open palms on the door and closed his eyes.

Within seconds Caleb felt the connection he was looking for and not for the first time sent a quick silent prayer up to anyone listening. Calming his own mind, he took a deep breath and reached out for his father, whom he knew was holding onto Sam and at the same time delivered a metaphysical push to Dean.

He felt the expected 'mental' loss of connection with Dean immediately like a swift punch to the gut. Caleb was assuaged only by the fact he could still sense his physical contact with the teen. After all, as hard as it was to imagine, he was at the hospital, sitting by Dean's bedside, still holding his hand. And on the psychic side of things, even though Caleb was now alone he took comfort in the fact that Sammy wasn't.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Dean barely adjusted to the darkness of the closet when the feeling of an electrical current surged through his body. It was painful. His knees betrayed him. He braced himself against one of the walls to keep from falling. Dean bit his lip to keep from crying out and laying even more guilt on Caleb's plate. He also feared his friend might completely back out of the gig, leaving Sammy to his own devices, which was not an option.

Dean gasped, his breath catching in his chest as lights danced behind his tightly clenched eyelids. The agony rushing through his head was quick and sharp, but mercifully receded like an ebbing tide rushing back to the sea.

Blinking, he felt only a residual, dull ache, a prickly pins and needles sensation. He was no longer in the tiny utility closet, but in a hallway of a house. It took only a fraction of a second for his scrambled brain to recognize it. Dean was in his childhood home of Lawrence, Kansas.

The painful flood of memories was worse than any physical suffering the mental trip had cost. Dean stared at the faded, flowered wallpaper and stained, wooden molding lining the upstairs hallway. He longed for the cramped confines of the closet he had come from. He had a fleeting childish wish that Caleb was still there with him before steeling himself for the mission at hand. Sam was in the house somewhere- waiting for him.

The hardwood floor was solid beneath his feet, but Dean felt unsteady. Smoke hung in the air, the scent of burnt wood and flesh mixing in a way that had his stomach jumping anxiously. He took a cautious step towards the first door on his right.

It was intact, but charred black. He reeled back after laying his hand against its surface. Intense heat bit at his skin. "What the hell are you doing here, Sammy?" he whispered, his own choked voice seeming extremely loud in the eerie silence.

Dean swallowed the flash of irrational fear, and forced himself to move forward, further down the hallway. Each door was closed and desecrated by fire like the first, but he moved past them, pulled by instinct he couldn't explain. This was Sam's world and from the looks of it, the kid was not in a happy place.

_A safe place. _

The words echoed through his mind in Caleb's deep baritone, and Dean found himself facing a door that did not belong in the nightmare. No scars from the past breached its surface, only paint and glass. There was a dopey-looking grizzly encircled with a collage of smiling bees and butterflies.

"Sammy?" The teen lifted his hand and when he touched the door it unlocked and swung open, beckoning him to come inside. Dean didn't hesitate. Echoes of laughter and soft whimsical music surrounded him as he stepped into the brightly lit classroom.

It was just the way he remembered it. His eyes instantly went to the coatroom at the far side, magically transported to the entrance of the Bear's Den without remembering having taken one willful step. The sounds of soft crying brought him inside, feeling a measure of anticipation at having finally found his kid brother. It all made sense now.

Sam started having nightmares about the fire that claimed their mother when he turned six. The following winter, he started first grade at Kodiak Elementary. His little brother flourished there, despite the Mother's Day crisis.

Everything came easily for his brother, and Dean and the rest of their extended hunting family protected Sam from anything that might shake his confidence. The first time Sam encountered a crisis he could not handle, he sought refuge. So Dean finding him at the Bear's Dean should not have been a shock. But finding him in the exact same spot as all those years ago, clutching the same stuffed bat, and not looking one day over six staggered the seventeen-year-old.

"Sammy?" Dean blinked, hoping he was imagining things. He had secretly wished his teenage brother could somehow revert back to the child he had been, but not once had he wanted a physical morphing. Had his own subconscious picked up on his brother's mental state? Was that why he'd ended up in Salt Lake? The coincidence was somewhat unnerving.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, looking up hopefully, his dark eyes shining with tears. But upon seeing the teen, he clutched the stuffed toy he was holding tighter to his chest and backed away until his back touched the wall.

Dean took a tentative step forward only to incur a soft whimper and flinch from his brother. He held his hand out in a calming manner. "Sammy, take it easy. It's me."

Sam didn't look convinced but his body seemed to relax. Dean hoped his brother recognized him on some "essential" level, as Mac had put it. Because if Sam was seeing him how he was pretty sure he was seeing Dean two feet taller and sixty or so pounds heavier. "It's okay, kiddo. Really. It's me, Dean."

Sam didn't move away this time as Dean edged closer, kneeling down on the floor beside the little boy so they were almost eye to eye.

"Dean?" Sam stared at him, a look of pure concentration replacing the one of fear, easing the sick feeling in the older Winchester's gut.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, Sammy. It's me. "

The little boy tilted his head. "What's the code word?"

Dean's relief faded and his brows drew together. _Great. _It was a habit engrained in Sam from the earliest age. Never speak to or trust anyone who didn't know the code word. The only problem being Dean was pretty sure their current safe phrase of _Kill Kenny_ was not going to register with his six-year-old little brother, who still liked his cartoons more on the milder side.

He could only hope a generic oldie would suffice. "Pancakes?"

The little boy frowned. "That was last month."

"Give me a break here, Sammy." Dean sighed. "How about dinosaurs? Transformers? Christopher Robin?" Hell, maybe Dad's favorite one, "Semper Fi?"

Dean knew the instant his brother believed him. A tear slipped past his lashes, the stuffed bat was discarded. Dean suddenly found his arms full as the six-year-old barreled into his chest, clutching to him like he was the last life vest on the Titanic.

"I didn't know what to do." The familiar words were sobering and Dean brought his own hands up to hold his little brother. "I was so scared, but I knew you'd come. I knew it."

"I'll always come for you, Sammy," Dean whispered, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Everything's going to be okay. I'm here now. I've got you."

It was a little unsettling to be able to comfort his brother in a way he had been denied for the last few years. Teenage Sam shrank away from physical touches these days, barely engaging in conversation unless it was absolutely necessary. Dean, admittedly, dodged chick-flick moments. They both had changed over the years, building barriers all boys endure to become men, but Sam's distancing had caught Dean by surprise and had hurt more than he'd realized until that exact moment.

Showing affection and concern had become awkward between them. Touches and hugs had dwindled, replaced by punches to the shoulder and affectionate slaps to the back of the head. Not to mention endearing, albeit derogatory, insults and nicknames. It was the natural way of things, but Dean had not been lying when he'd told Caleb things were a whole lot easier when Sam was little-when hugs and whispered words of comfort could chase away the ugliest of things. Just like now.

"How'd you get so big? You're as tall as Caleb."

The question and astute observation brought Dean back to the moment, and he held the boy tighter. "That's a long story, kiddo."

Sam pulled back some, wiping his too long bangs out of his face with the back of his arm. "That's okay, I like your stories."

Dean smiled. "I know you do, but we really don't have time for that now. We need to get out of here."

"No!" Panic raced across the too-young features. "No, Dean! The fire monster is out there."

Dean placed his hands on the small shoulders. "Sammy, there is no such thing as the fire monster. It's only a dream."

"Are you just a dream?"

Dean sighed. "I'm real, Sammy, but the thing from your nightmares isn't. It can't hurt you."

Sam's head bobbed up and down. "It can hurt me, Dean. See?"

The six year-old held out his arm. Dean noticed the tears in the long-sleeved shirt his brother was wearing. On closer inspection the rips were scorched holes and beneath the charred material there lay three long red marks where Sam's tender skin had been burned.

"Damn," he swore as he gently took hold of his brother's arm.

"That's a bad word," Sam pointed out, wincing slightly as his brother carefully pushed the sleeve up and away from the blistered skin.

Dean glanced up at him. "I can say bad words now, I'm all grown up."

"Daddy is still bigger than you."

"Yeah, well, Dad's not here."

"I wish he were here. He'd kill the monster." Sam glanced around, nervously. "He'd protect us."

The seventeen-year-old looked at Sam. "It's not going to hurt you again, Sam. I won't let it."

When Sam met his gaze with pain-filled eyes, Dean ghosted a hand through his hair. "Close your eyes, Sammy."

The little boy frowned but Dean squeezed his shoulder. "Trust me, kiddo."

With only the slightest hesitation, Sam complied.

Dean lifted the little boy's injured arm, and gently pressed his lips to the wound. Just as he suspected, the redness started to fade immediately, the blisters disappeared, and when Sam opened his eyes, astonishment replaced the hurt. "Wow." The six-year-old looked from his arm to the grown-up version of his big brother. "You made it all better."

The teen grinned. "Magical kisses. Remember?" Dean knew there was a time when Sam believed he could do anything; even heal skinned elbows and banged-up knees with a simple touch. It was about the same time his little brother thought he wore a cape. _This _Sam obviously still believed all those things to be true.

"I remember," the little boy whispered.

"Sammy, do you remember how you got here?"

His little brother nodded. "The bad thing chased me. I didn't know what to do-where to go." Sam's eyes filled again. "I was so scared."

"You don't have to be scared anymore, Sammy. I'm with you, and as long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you."

"Can't we just stay _here_- together?" Dark eyes held his. Dean had to wonder just how much that request had to do with little Sammy's monster versus whatever demons his _thirteen_ year-old brother had been facing.

Even realizing how wrong it was, Dean was tempted by the illusion-the security and simplicity it offered. Here, Dean could protect Sam from anything, heal every hurt, solve every problem with a story or a hug. The real world allowed no such comfort.

"We have to go home now, Sam." Dean forced himself to release the little boy, and stood up. There were others to consider. "Dad's waiting on us. Mac and Caleb, too. They'll be sad if we don't come back."

Sammy glanced around the coatroom, uncertainty and dread easily read on his young face. Finally, he heaved a much put upon sigh and bent down to retrieve Stellaluna. "Okay," he said simply, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Dean's much larger one. "I don't want them to be sad. Daddy needs us."

"That's my boy." Dean bit back a smile, not missing the irony that _this_ Sammy would do anything to make his father happy, whereas hormone-riddled _Sam _seemed to live to piss off the old man.

They made it to the door of the classroom where Sammy cast one more furtive glance over his shoulder towards the Bear's Den before looking up at the teen. "I'm afraid," he said, sounding smaller than his six years.

Dean felt his protective instincts kick into overdrive, even though there was nothing to fear beyond the door. Nothing except for the cruel and stealthy enemies of time and space. Both of which had proven to be formidable enemies to them so far. "I know." He squeezed his little brother's hand. "But it'll be okay. I'll be with you the whole way. We'll do it together."

Sammy's face changed, losing some of its innocence. "Promise?"

Dean swallowed hard, found the words elusive, but managed to get his head to cooperate with an affirmative nod.

Sammy took it to heart, and lifted his hand to the door knob at the same instant the painted frame shook and then shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, peppering them with minute shards of glass.

The seventeen-year-old moved instantly, reflexively using his own body to shield his baby brother. Both of them were flung to the floor from the impact, as a sudden surge of heat washed over their tangled bodies.

Dean swore as he heard Sam whimper beneath him. He fought with his own surge of panic as he felt the bite of hot flames lick at his back and arms. "Sammy!" he ground out through the pain. "This isn't real! Do you hear me? Stop it. Now!"

"Dean!" Sammy cried. "It's the monster! He's going to take me!"

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, because it was impossible to escape what Sam carried inside. Dean pushed himself up on his elbows, not giving into the temptation to look over his shoulder, to face the beast his little brother's psyche had conjured, which was very possibly the thing that had killed their mother.

"Sam! Listen to me!" He managed to get his hands on either side of the distraught little boy's head. He forced his brother to meet his gaze while keeping his body between Sammy and the flames pressing closer to them. "This is just a dream, baby brother," he whispered. "Wake up, Sammy, and it will all be over. Dreams can't hurt you. Just wake up!"

The overhead fluorescent lights shattered, sending more glass raining down, casting them in darkness except for the eerie glow of the flames around them. The whole place was burning to the ground. The blood he felt dripping down his face, sliding across his lips was all too real, as were the nicks and scrapes on his brother's face. "Sammy!"

"I can't!" Sam screamed. "I don't know how, Dean! I'm scared."

The roar of the fire was growing as it fed on the structure it was consuming. The intense heat was agonizing and Dean could swear he could feel his clothes smolder. "Yes you can, little brother." He fought to keep his voice calm. "I know you can."

"NO! I'm afraid." Sammy's lip trembled. "I'm too afraid."

"Of what, Sammy?" It sounded ridiculous to his ears, considering everything going on around them, but like Caleb had said, things weren't always what they seemed. This was Sam's movie, and Dean had to follow the script.

"Of losing you," the little boy whispered, and then before Dean's very eyes, six-year-old Sammy morphed into thirteen-year-old Sam. "I'm afraid I'll lose you…you big jerk," he choked out, closing his eyes as tears slipped unbidden.

"Damn, Sammy." Dean let his hands slip from his brother's face to brace himself against the floor.

"It's Sam," the teen whispered, forcing his eyes open, holding his brother's concerned gaze. Despite the transformation, the fire still raged around them, parts of the roof fell down, and Dean once again placed his arms over the other boy's head, offering a meager shelter.

"_Sam!_" Dean tried again, lifting his body enough that he could see his brother's face. "I'm not going anywhere. You aren't going to lose me."

"You can't say that." Sam sobbed, as windows from across the room exploded. "You can't say that," Sam shouted. "You don't know…"

"Everything?" Dean interjected, catching his brother off guard, causing him to falter.

"No-I don't, but I do know about this."

"How? How can you know?" Sam asked, miserably.

"Because…" Dean grabbed his brother's hand, grasping it tight. "I won't let go. _Ever_."

Sam glanced at their entwined grip. "I'm sorry, Dean. For everything I said...I don't hate you. God, I mean…I …you know."

"No problem, kiddo." Dean's mouth twitched. "I do know…and the feeling is mutual."

Sam snorted. "Right."

"Just wake the fuck up, Francis, so we can get the hell out of this freaky head of yours."

Sam laughed. He was about to ask his brother exactly what he meant when the world fell in around them, crushing them beneath its weight. Sam heard his brother cry out, felt his weight collapse onto him. Then a blinding pain ripped through his head, causing him to gasp for his stolen breath."Dean!"

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

"Sammy!" John was at his son's bedside as the thirteen year old jackknifed into a sitting position and called his brother's name.

Mac jerked back as if he'd been slugged. He released the teen's hand, looking almost as out of sorts as Sam, but quickly steadied himself.

"Sammy," John said again, having practically crawled onto the mattress with his son, cradling the boy's head in both his trembling hands. "Talk to me, kiddo. Are you okay?

"Dad?" Sam rasped. He blinked in confusion and looked dazedly around the dimly lit hospital room. "What's going on?"

"Sam? Can you tell me where you are?"

"Mac?" Sam blinked again, unsure if he could trust what he was seeing. "When did you get here?"

Mackland smiled patiently, keeping his fingers pressed against Sam's wrist. "Where's here, Samuel?"

The teen frowned, realizing the man was taking his pulse. "West Virginia?" Sam wagered, casting an unsure glance to his father.

John nodded, but Mac spoke again. "Can you tell me your full name?"

"Samuel Jonathan Winchester," Sam pushed out, pulling his arm back into his lap.

"And how old are you?"

"How old am I?" Sam parroted, a far off look crossing his face. Images flashed before him, and sudden panic swept over him. "Dad!" He turned on his father. "Where's Dean? Where's my brother?"

"Sammy, take it easy." John placed both hands on the boy's shoulders. His son's breath was coming in harsh pants, anxiety and fear slowly closing their tendrils around him as he tried to get off the bed. "Dean's fine. Just breathe, okay."

"No!" Sam shook his head, continuing to struggle. "I want Dean."

John and Mackland shared a look and both turned towards the other bed. Caleb's eyes were still closed, his hand entwined tightly with Dean's. But distress was etched on both their young features.

Mackland quickly moved to his son's side, hesitating momentarily before laying his hand on Caleb's shoulder. "Son?"

"Dean!" Caleb gasped, his eyes snapping open.

Ames's kept a hand on his son as the younger man nearly tumbled off his chair. "Easy, Caleb. Take it easy."

Caleb shook off his touch. "Something's wrong." Dean's hand was cold and clammy, and Reaves eyes searched the older teen's face. All eyes in the room followed his gaze. Mackland's harsh intake of breath and the curse that slipped from John's lips were muffled by the roar in Caleb's head. "Dean?"

Dean didn't react to Caleb's voice or his distraught brother shouting his name over and over again. Caleb roughly grabbed Dean's too pale face; he pulled back blood smeared fingers coming from Dean's ear. "Damn, Deuce," Caleb whispered. He noticed the droplets of red splattered on the pillow case. Mackland leaned over him, pushing the call button.

"What the hell did we do?"

RcJ


	10. Chapter 10

Heroes Revisited

Chapter 10

Beta: Tidia

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

**_"Heroism feels and never reasons, and therefore is always right." _**

****

Mac hit the call button beside Dean's bed as he simultaneously placed his hand against the young man's carotid artery. The boy's pulse rate was too slow. Damn. He should have expected the worst with the Winchesters.

"_Yes?" _A woman's voice came across the intercom.

"Page Doctor White and your top neurology consult to Dean Winchester's room STAT, and I need a BP reading in here, immediately."

"_Yes, sir." _

"Dad?" Caleb's voice was laced with fear. "He's in trouble."

Mackland gently nudged past his son, breaking Caleb's connection with Dean. He forced the younger psychic back a few feet. "I know, Son." Mac also knew he was to blame for allowing this to happen. But Caleb wouldn't see it that way.

"Mac?" John made his way to Dean's bed, hovering on the other side as the physician raised each of Dean's eyelids, and flashed his penlight in one, then the other.

Sam tried to follow his father. Caleb caught his arm and held him on the bed. "No, Runt."

The teen had just made a miraculous recovery, but was still attached to several monitors, including an I.V. "Dean?" the teen whispered.

Reaves wrapped a restraining arm around Sam's shoulders when the kid tried once again to climb off the mattress. "Let him work, Sammy."

"Pupil response is abnormal," Mackland mumbled more to himself than the concerned men around him. He gently slapped Dean's cheek. "Dean? Can you hear me, son? Dean!"

There was no response and Ames placed his cheek closer to Dean's face, detecting the distinct patterned breathing. "Damn it," he swore softly. "Abnormal respiratory functioning."

Mac placed his hands on Dean's face, turning the teen's head gently to peer in his nose then in each ear. "Sinus cavities have been breached." He looked up and met John's terrified gaze just as a nurse rushed in followed by Dr. Ryan White.

"What's going on?" White looked confused, first staring at Sam, unconscious the last time he saw him to his own patient who had been totally coherent, but was now the one in distress.

"Get a BP on him," Mackland instructed the RN. He turned to White. "I think we're looking at Cushing's Triad."

"Fuck!" White shoved John out of the way, going through the same diagnostics. "How the hell did I miss this? He was fine a few hours ago."

Ames knew there was no time for explanations. "We need a new CAT scan-could be looking at a hematoma. Where's your neuro-specialist?"

White ran a hand through his blond hair. "This is a two horse town, Dr. Ames. The closest we've got to the kind of specialist you're referring to is the surgeon who was in charge of the younger brother's case."

Mac sighed. "Page him down to Radiology. I want these tests done quickly. We can't afford to lose any time."

"BP is 160 over 62." The nurse glanced to both men as she pulled the cuff off Dean.

"Get some orderlies in here." Mackland motioned to the door. "Contact radiology."

"Systolic is climbing while diastolic is dropping," White knuckled his eyes. "Shit, I should have watched closer."

"Will one of you please tell me what the hell is going on?" John demanded, tired of being kept in the dark, shoved to the wayside.

Mac met his gaze. "Dean is displaying all the signs of Cushing's Triad. It's a way to check for increase in intracranial pressure."

"Yeah, Sam's doctor explained all that when he was afraid that Sam had suffered a traumatic brain injury. But none of it applied to Sammy's case."

Mackland didn't have to say it. It was written on his face. Dean wasn't going to be so lucky. "This is different, John."

There would be no psychic cures for whatever Dean was going through. "He'll be okay, right?"

Before Ames could answer orderlies pushed in with a gurney. Caleb hopped up onto Sam's bed to avoid being run over. The two techs helped White and Mac transfer Dean to the other bed. White grabbed the I.V., running alongside the gurney as they rushed out of the room.

"Dean?" Sam seemed to snap out of whatever shock he was in, realizing his brother was being taken away. "No! Wait."

"Sam." Reaves tightened his hold. "Take it easy." It was hypocritical considering Caleb had the same irrational desire to chase the gurney too.

"No, let me go." The teen struggled out of Caleb's grasp, finding the I.V. and pulling it from his arm before Reaves could stop him. Blood splattered on the sheet and Caleb hissed.

"Damn it, Sam!" The boy continued to fight him, pulling electrodes from beneath his hospital gown, tugging his finger from the lighted clip.

"Samuel! Stop it!"

It was not the words, but his father's strong grip that quashed his attempt to follow his brother. "Dad, let me go," the teen pleaded.

"Look at me." John turned his son around, giving him a slight shake. "You can't go with your brother. They're taking him down for tests."

"But it's my fault," Sam whispered softly. "I did this."

"No, you didn't." John squeezed the boy's shoulders; the blame lay squarely on his head. "Your brother wouldn't want you saying stuff like that."

"He'd be pissed, Sammy," Caleb interrupted. The thirteen-year-old looked up at him and watched as the older hunter gently placed a wad of tissues against his bleeding hand. "The raw head caused all of this. And we killed that evil son of a bitch, so as soon as Deuce wakes up we can all have a good laugh about this little game of musical comas you two have going on."

Mackland rushed by the room, and John called out. "Mac?"

"I need to consult with Gentry, John. I'll send another physician in to check on Samuel."

"I'm coming with." John shoved Sam towards Caleb, making sure the younger hunter had a hold of the boy before releasing his grasp. "Watch him!"

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Sure leave me with the easy job."

John rushed out of the room and Caleb sensed more than felt Sam's intentions. "I'm so not in the mood to chase you down, kiddo; but you can bet your ass I will."

Sam glared up at him. "He's my brother."

"Yeah, the shared mile-wide stubborn streak is a dead giveaway, but he's in the best possible hands right now, Sammy," Caleb replied. He was trying to convince himself as much as the younger boy. "Or did you finish med school while I wasn't looking?"

The teen bit his lip to keep from crying when he realized he wouldn't be following his brother anytime soon. He took a hitching breath and glanced down at the green gown he was wearing, and then gazed at the numerous machines around him. He glanced at Caleb with confusion. "What's going on, Caleb? What the hell happened?"

"What do you remember?" Caleb sighed and took a seat on the bed, lifting the make-shift bandage to see if Sam's hand was still bleeding.

"Going to camp." Sam winced. He remembered the fight he had with Dean. Then things were foggy and filled with nightmarish scenes he couldn't quite decipher.

The small puncture wound had stopped bleeding so Caleb tossed the tissues in the trash and finally met Sam's gaze. It was going to be a long story. "Well, you know what an ass your brother can be…"

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ _

John paced in the Radiology waiting room, forcing a few of the other visitors to flee because of his display of barely-restrained volatile emotions. When Mac finally did enter the room Winchester nearly pounced on him. "How is he?"

"Believe it or not, he's been in and out of consciousness."

"Thank God." John ran a hand down his beard. "Can I see him?"

"We need to discuss his treatment first."

"What treatment? He's awake, that's good right?"

Mac motioned to some chairs and tried to tell himself this was like any one of the other thousand plus consults he'd done in the past. The clenching in his chest mocked him for even trying that spineless tactic. "Dean has a subdural hematoma, John."

"A blood clot?" Winchester frowned. "Sam's doctor used that word."

Mac nodded. "A subdural hematoma is the rupture of the bridging veins that run between the surface of the brain and the skull, causing a collection of blood on the brain. Acute subdural hematomas are often fatal, and at the least require surgery to remove them." Mac paused to see how John was processing the information. He continued on with his explanation. "What I believe we're seeing with Dean is a subacute subdural, or perhaps even a chronic type, both of which often times can correct themselves. The bleeding stops on its own, and that's what we're hoping for. After seeing the CAT scans that's what I believe will happen."

"Why do I feel a big but coming on here?"

Mac sighed. "But any intracranial hemorrhaging, no matter how slight, can trigger an increase in intracranial pressure."

"Like swelling of the brain?"

"Sort of. More like extreme pressure on the brain. Worse case scenario, the brain is deprived of oxygen, and we see ischemia."

"That doesn't sound good, Mac."

It wasn't good. But Ames chose to focus on the solutions not the worst case scenarios. "There are several things we can try with Dean before we even start looking at surgical intervention."

"What?"

"Before I left the field I was doing some pretty intense research with a couple of colleagues at Duke and Stanford. We were working on treating TBI's, traumatic brain injuries, with hypothermia."

"Hypothermia?"

"Doctors have used it in pre-ops for years to reduce bleeding. It lowers a person's metabolic rate better than any drug. For every ten Celsius drop in temperature a person's metabolic rate falls by fifty percent."

"And how does this help?"

Mackland sympathized with his old friend. "It's complicated. We want to slow the body's processes, especially the brain. Lowering the metabolic rate not only slows blood flow, but also inhibits the release of neurotransmitters such as dopamine."

"The same neurotransmitters that were stimulated when we did that psychic shit?" John asked, anger and guilt lacing through his voice.

Mackland was victim to the same self-recriminations. "Yes."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"We can induce a barbiturate coma, which I'd rather not do considering the brain contusions from Dean's primary injury. Then there is surgery-a burr hole or craniotomy."

John paled. "You mean trepanning?"

"Come now, Jonathan. You make it sound like we're still in the medieval times."

"I'm sorry, Mackland, but you're talking about drilling a fucking hole in my kid's head. They'll never be enough advances in your precious neurology to convince me that's a good idea."

"I'm not suggesting surgery. I'm suggesting we use hypothermia, and even though I don't have access to a cold suit, we can do it the old fashioned way."

John sighed. "Which is?"

"We use cold blankets, ice packs, and a cold saline."

"Shit." John rubbed at his eyes.

"It sounds worse than it is. We only take the body down to 32 degrees Celsius. Any lower than that would be counterproductive."

"And even at 32 degrees there are serious risks." Ryan White joined them. The young doctor seemed to have aged a few years in the past hour. He looked from John to Mac. "No offense, Dr. Ames but Dean is my patient. I should have been in on this consultation."

"No offense taken." Mackland cleared his throat, reminding himself he no longer ate hot-shot interns for breakfast. "Because of my past history with Mr. Winchester, I thought I should talk with him first."

"What risks, Mac?" John ignored White.

"Myocardial infarction for one," the young doctor interjected once more.

Mackland glared at the other physician. "Perhaps if Dean were my age that would be true."

"A heart attack?" John shook his head. "What the fuck, Mac?"

"Heart attacks are rare, usually only occurring in the elderly due to the increased demand for oxygen. Dean is seventeen and athletic. The side-effects of a surgical decompression or a drug-induced pentobarbital coma are far more reaching than what I'm suggesting."

"Did you tell him about the ventilator?"

John looked from the young doctor to his friend. Mac sighed. "We'll intubate him, and put him on a ventilator as patient shivering increases oxygen use on an average of 200 percent. With Dean's broken ribs, we can't take the chance of a lung collapsing."

John laughed, but no signs of humor emerged. "This just keeps getting better."

"Whatever it is you decide, John, we need to work fast. I'm not risking further swelling or a mid-line shift. If those things happen the chance for recovery is slim." Mackland refused to accept he would be the cause of losing someone as special as Dean.

John held his friend's gaze. "I trust you."

Ames nodded, and then looked up at White. "Let's keep this simple, shall we? I want an isolated room we can cool, and warm when we need to. We'll need cold blankets-I'm assuming you do have those?"

"We're not _that_ rural, Doctor."

"Good. I'll also want icepacks and an ample supply of cold saline."

"We could use isotonic saline; take care of the blood pressure, too." White offered.

Mac looked impressed. "That's a good idea." The older physician decided to reciprocate. "Have a crash cart standing by, just in case."

"I want to see Dean." John licked his lips, pushing himself to a standing position. "Sammy too."

Mackland saw the fear in the other man's eyes, a rare emotion he hadn't witnessed very often in his friend. "Sam should see his brother. Caleb, too." He didn't want to acknowledge it, but things could go very wrong and the boys deserved a chance to say what needed to be said. Ames suddenly looked up at the young doctor. "That is if it's okay with Dean's physician?"

White raised a brow when John looked at him for confirmation. "Dr. Gentry gave your other son a clean bill of health." He looked at Mac. "It would seem Dr. Ames's reputation is not unfounded. So I don't have a problem with it. I'll send a nurse for you as soon as we get Dean settled into a room."

"Thank you." John met Mac's gaze for only a moment before walking away without another word.

Ames watched him go and felt White's gaze upon him. He turned to the younger man reading the question in his inquisitive eyes. It didn't take Caleb's ability to know what the kid was thinking. "No, it's not easy when you're dealing with family."

"You're close to Dean?"

Mackland nodded. "Yes, and it is a hundred times harder than you can imagine. I am breeching every medical text protocol, seeing as how I have no business dealing in a situation where my impartiality could be called to the table."

"But you're still going to do it."

Mac offered him a sad knowing smile. "Yes. Because books, no matter how well written, or _who_ they are written about, can never prepare you for real life and all of its chaos. In real life a man as close to me as a brother is on the verge of losing his son-a boy I have watched grow into a young man. A boy whom I love very much. How could I not be involved when I have the means to help?"

"Real life is a bitch," White said with a slight nod.

Mac smiled reminding him that he missed having young, naïve interns to enlighten and mold. "You bet it is, son. You bet it is."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

John had never felt quite as tired as he did exiting the elevator leading to the pediatrics ward of the hospital. He'd nearly panicked when he'd gone to Dean's old room and found it eerily empty and void of life. A kind nurse had quickly explained Sam's doctor had moved him to the children's ward as it was protocol for anyone under the age of fourteen. Gentry apparently wanted him held a few more days for observation. John wagered it was more of 'keeping their ass out of the proverbial sling,' especially in light of what was happening with Dean.

That was fine with John, because he really didn't feel like fighting with Sam about leaving anytime soon. The nurse also told him with a dreamy look in her eyes his _brother _had completed the additional insurance forms.

He opened the door to Sam's room and took in the sight. Sam was asleep, looking far too young, small and fragile in the bed surrounded by Mickey Mouse wallpaper and a Donald Duck lamp on the bedside table. Caleb slumbered in the chair next to the bed. An open book was spread across his chest, and his hand was suspiciously close to actually covering Sam's.

John only made it a couple of steps into the room before the younger hunter was sitting up, dropping the book, and taking a protective stance. "Easy, tiger." John sighed, holding his hands out in front of him until Caleb found his bearings.

"Damn, Johnny, give a guy a heart attack why don't you?"

"You shouldn't be sleeping on watch," John said gruffly, but his lip twitched revealing just a hint of dimple.

Caleb motioned towards Sam. "Yeah, well, you deal with the boy wonder hyped up on too many Mountain Dews and M&M's, not to mention being scared out of his mind about Dean, and see what happens. It's a fucking miracle he went to sleep. He asked a record number of questions in an hour."

"Who the hell bought Mountain Dew and M&M's?"

The younger man ducked his head. "I did." He snorted. "But that'll be the last damn time."

Caleb was indulgent to Sam on a good day. In fact, John was pretty sure the kid would probably have sneaked Sam a six pack if his son had asked, considering he was certain Caleb felt guilty. "How's he doing, besides the fact you OD'd him on junk food?"

Caleb yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Gentry said he'd be tired for a while, maybe grumpier than usual, but besides that he's a perfect specimen of a thirteen-year-old."

"Finally, some good news."

"But Sammy was pretty pissed about being moved into the kiddie ward, and let me tell you, I had to threaten bodily harm to get him to agree to that new hospital garb." The younger hunter motioned to the boy who was covered with a blanket. "But the big question is, how's Deuce?"

"Your old man wants to put him in the deep freeze to keep his brain from blowing a gasket."

"Say again?" Caleb fully sat up.

John waved a hand in the air and lowered his voice when Sam shifted in his sleep. "Some damn technique involving hypothermia Mac researched a while back."

Caleb frowned. "And here I thought he might want to drill a hole in the kid's head or something."

John took a seat on the corner of Sam's bed. He settled his hand gently in his son's mass of long brown hair. "Yeah, well, that could be a possibility, too."

"Damn," Caleb swore, leaning forward. "Is this from the projecting?"

John didn't have to be a brilliant doctor to understand what Caleb was asking. "No." He shook his head. "This was from the blows to the head Dean took from that raw. Acceleration-Deceleration trauma, Mac called it." John shrugged, letting his fingers slide through Sam's too-long locks, calming his own nerves. "Some kind of latent hematoma formed. Happens in a lot in car wreck victims-the walking/talking wounded. Apparently, it can also occur by having your head slammed into things like the ground. All in all, it can cause some nasty things to happen."

"But the psychic traveling couldn't have been good for it?"

"No." John let his hand still, coming to rest along Sammy's forehead. "We probably didn't do the smartest thing for Dean."

Caleb nodded. "But we got Sammy back. Dean would have done it even if he knew what was going to happen."

John met the younger man's gaze unsure if Caleb was trying to let him off the hook or ease his own misplaced guilt. "True."

"You made sure of that when you trained him to be such a good guard dog."

John rolled his eyes. So much for letting him off the hook. "Dean's not some Pit Bull, Caleb."

"Jim's been telling you that for years, man. I didn't think you would ever understand."

"Don't."

"Whatever." Caleb stood and stretched. "I seriously need some air."

"Sammy and I are going up to see Dean. You're going too. Then I have some errands for you to run."

Caleb's brow furrowed. "What kind of errands? I don't want to go far."

"For one- I want some damn decent coffee, not this hospital sludge."

"Anything else?" Caleb sighed dramatically.

"Yeah. I want you to swing by the apartment and pick up some clothes and stuff for me and the kid. Bring Sammy's books too. Anything to keep him occupied." _And out of my hair. _"This hypothermia thing is suppose to last a couple of days."

"Shit." Caleb ran a hand over his mouth, a little more color seeped from his face.

"Yeah." John rubbed at his aching neck. It was going to be a hard couple of days for everyone. "You could call the boys' school. The number's on the 'fridge. Give them the same story we fed the doctors."

"Damn, Winchester, what do you think I am?"

John smirked. "Apparently you're my _brother_, or did you forget?" He shook his head slightly. "Being in this family doesn't come without a whole hell of a lot of shitty stuff, Reaves. You should know that by now."

Caleb held his hand out expectantly to the other man. "Then I'll be needing the keys to the black beauty, bro."

John growled, but fished the Impala's keys out of his pocket. "I take a pound of flesh for every scratch, and you don't want to know what happens for dings or dents."

"I'll take care of it like my own Jeep."

"That's what I'm afraid of." He couldn't help assuage the young hunter's guilt. He'd have to leave that to Mac or even better, Dean. "Why don't you go on up, see if Ace is in a room yet? Your Dad says he's awake."

John watched some of the shadows fade from Caleb's gold eyes. "Why the hell didn't you tell me that to begin with?"

John watched him go and then looked at Sam. He reached out to rub at what appeared to be a smear of chocolate on his face.

"Dad?" Sam's eyes fluttered as John wiped off the rest of the M & M remnants with his thumb.

"Yeah, kiddo."

The teen quickly struggled to sit up, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. He glanced to the chair Caleb had vacated and then back to his father. "Where's Dean? Is he okay?"

"He's hanging in there, Sammy."

"Can I see him?"

"As soon as he's in a room you and I are going to visit with him for a bit."

"So…he's going to be okay?" Sam swallowed hard as he watched his father hesitate. "Dad?" Sam's brown eyes were wide. There was more than a hint of fear and dread.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Sammy. Your brother is pretty sick."

Tears brimmed in the teen's eyes, but John could tell that Sam was struggling to maintain a brave front. He hadn't actually seen his son cry in years. John wasn't sure what that said about his parenting skills.

"It's all my fault."

"No, Sam." John reached out and squeezed his son's shoulder. "None of this is your fault."

"Caleb told me what happened. How I got locked in my own stupid head and Dean came to get me." The boy actually remembered bits and pieces of it like the fuzzy leftovers of a bad dream, but mostly he recalled feeling lost and scared. Then safe when Dean had found him.

John sighed. "You were trying to save Dean when this happened to you, Sam. You put yourself in danger to help your brother. That's what we do."

"But Dean's tough. He'll get better. Right?"

"Right." John nodded confidently. "He's a Winchester. No little headache is going to take him down."

Sam's mouth twitched, a hint of dimple showing. "You always said Dean's head was like reinforced steel."

John grinned, reached out and ruffled Sam's hair affectionately. "Winchester secret weapon."

"You really believe he'll be okay?"

The older hunter wanted to believe it. Couldn't imagine it any other way. He could not lose his children. "I know it, Sammy." He forced another grin. "I don't think your brother trusts me to raise you by myself."

Sam didn't get a chance to reply because the door to his room suddenly opened again and a young nurse stepped inside. "Mr. Winchester, Dr. White wanted me to inform you that your son is now in ICU, room A-10."

"Thank you." John looked back to Sam once the nurse had gone. "You ready?"

Sam pulled back the covers and started off the bed, but stopped suddenly. "Uh…Dad?"

John looked up. "Yeah, son?"

"Can I have my own clothes?" Sam motioned to the gown he was wearing, which John now saw was a pale blue color with tiny images of Goofy and Pluto playing baseball. "Dean will never let me live this down." It was bad enough that Caleb had seen it.

At the worried, slightly mortified look on the teen's face, John laughed the first real laugh he'd had in days. He felt some of his exhaustion fade at the normalcy of the situation. "I think that's a good idea. Heaven forbid we give your brother any more ammunition to use against you."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ _

Caleb heard Dean before he saw his room. The teen's voice was raised in frustration or fear, maybe a mixture of both and it was cause for the hunter to quicken his pace.

"What's going on?" Reaves asked, barging into the room heedless of what might be going on inside. "Deuce?"

"Caleb."

Despite the weak and pain-roughened inflection, the immense relief was audible and Caleb sought out the threat as he quickly stepped to Dean's bedside. He found only Dr. White and two harried nurses. "What's wrong?"

"They won't let me see Sammy."

"I was explaining to Dean about the hypothermic and sedation process. We need to get started soon," White explained.

Reaves frowned at the physician and turned to Dean. He placed a hand on the teen's shoulder. "Sammy's awake, Deuce. He's just downstairs. He and your dad will be up in a minute."

"Mac told me he was okay." Dean licked his lips, his voice lowering. "But I was afraid I wouldn't get to see him in case…"

Caleb sat on the bed with a firm shake of his head. "Cut it out with the 'just in case,' dude. Everything's going to be okay." Reaves glanced up at White. "Give us a minute, Doc." He watched the physician move away, taking the nurses with him before focusing on Dean again.

"They're going to knock me out, pump me full of ice water and let some machine take over my breathing." Dean sought out his best friend with imploring green eyes. "You can't tell me that's okay, Damien."

Caleb forced a smile. It was so far out of the realm of okay. "Are you kidding? Han Solo survived the carbonization chamber with no problem. You so can do this."

He didn't get the grin he was expecting. Instead Dean's cool fingers latched around his. "Just get me out of here. I'll be okay."

"Dean." Reaves was shaken by the request. "Did Mac tell you what's going on in that freaky head of yours?"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "His groupie intern explained it all." The seventeen-year-old forced his lids open again. "I've hit my head worse before and it could get better on its own."

Caleb shook his head. "Or you could end up with all the charm and charisma of one of Pastor Jim's prized zucchinis."

"Please." Dean tried. "I don't want to do this."

Caleb felt the crushing weight of the pleading tone and the cutting edge of Dean's fearful gaze. It was obvious the kid was scared and Caleb could completely empathize. He was freaking terrified himself. "I can't risk your life, Dean." Caleb had made enough mistakes by acting out of fear lately and look where it had gotten them. Where it had landed Dean. "Life would be extremely boring having my smart-mouthed, pain in the ass sidekick replaced by Veggie Boy."

It took a moment, but finally Dean's mouth twitched and his painful grip on Caleb's hand loosened. "I'm nobody's sidekick."

Caleb continued on. "Although a cumquat probably pays more attention to orders than you do. Maybe some ears of corn would be just the thing I need."

"That's bad." Dean laughed, but then winced as his head was jarred. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw against the pain.

"Hey." Caleb rested a gentle hand on his hair. "Just breathe, Deuce. It'll get better."

Dean swallowed thickly and took a few short breaths. When he looked at Caleb again some of the panicked glaze had abated. "Sorry I freaked out on you."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, kid." Caleb was the one who should have been begging for forgiveness. If anything happened to Dean…

"I know it's Mac and he's the best but…"

"It's still scary as hell." Caleb raised a brow. "Dude, I'm the one who gets the willies just seeing one of those big blue 'H' signs on the interstate. I get it."

"So, you don't think I'm being a girl?"

Caleb squeezed his hand. "Well, I know it's that time of the month, Deana, I'm just trying to make you feel better in case you croak or something." Reaves grinned. "Is it working?"

Dean snorted. "Like magic."

A nurse stepped over and touched Caleb's shoulder. "We need to start the cold saline drip on your brother now."

Reaves glanced up at the woman, but didn't correct her. He removed his touch from Dean with a sense of dread and the teen gave him a look somewhere between resignation and forgiveness.

"Now that the freezing process is about to begin, you sure you're not going to do the whole Princess Leia confession thing, Damien?"

Caleb appreciated the humor, despite the knife of guilt it thrust in his gut. "Me? The L-word? Come now, Deuce. There's about as much of a chance of me kissing a Wookie."

Dean smirked. "Right."

Caleb stood and started to move out of the nurse's way, but then hesitated. His eyes met Dean's again. "But just because I don't say it, doesn't mean it's not true." Maybe the silence made it more so.

The teen nodded, seeming to understand. After all, they both studied at John Winchester's 'when in doubt- repress' school of hard knocks. "I know."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ _

After Sam's quick change into a pair of borrowed scrubs, John led his son to Dean's room where they met up with Mackland coming off the elevator.

"Any change?" John asked, still holding out hope his son would miraculously pull out of this in typical Dean fashion.

"No." Ames glanced up from the chart he'd been reading. "His BP is still erratic and respiratory functions haven't returned to normal. I've ordered the cold isotonic drip, and I want to start the respiratory push soon."

John nodded grimly. "Just let me talk to him first."

"Of course." Mackland opened the door leading to Dean.

John felt Sam hesitate as a flurry of activity greeted them.

Mac placed his hand on the teen's shoulder. "It's not as bad as it looks, Sam. All this equipment is going to help us monitor Dean's condition during the hypothermic process.

"Hypothermic?" Sam glanced up at the doctor.

"I haven't really explained everything," John said with a shrug.

Ames favored him with an exasperated look. "How about we explain it to Dean, so I only have to do it once."

John and Sam made their way through the nurses and found Dr. White by Dean's bedside. Caleb was in the corner of the room and he nodded to the teen when their eyes met.

White gave Sam a quick smile. "Seems your big brother couldn't stand for you to get all the attention."

"He's…always hogging the limelight, Doc." Dean's voice was weak and laced with pain, but to Sam it sounded beautiful.

"Dean?" Sam leaned against the bed. "You're awake!"

"Hard…to sleep with all these women putting their hands all over me. And then there was all of Caleb's blubbering."

One of the nurses currently placing an icepack on Dean's chest winked at Sam. "I bet he thinks he's really smooth with the ladies, doesn't he?"

Sam nodded. "But, he doesn't even have a girlfriend."

"And there aren't very many prospects either," Caleb added.

"Shut up," Dean growled, and Sam felt as if his face might break with his large smile. It was so good to have some sort of normalcy amidst the strange chaos surrounding them. Dean returned the grin with a decent imitation of his usual shit-eating version. "At least I've…actually kissed a girl."

Sam ignored the dig. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good, Sammy." The older teen licked his dry lips. "How…'bout you?"

"I'm okay," Sam said softly, biting his lower lip as he stared at his brother. "Thanks to you."

When Dean didn't reply Mac spoke up. "Dean, I want to explain what's going to happen as we try to contain the problem you're having with the intracranial pressure."

Dean lifted his hand slightly off the bed. "No need, Mac." Dean took a quick shallow breath. "You're putting me on ice, until my brain shrinks. Dr. Bedside Manner told me"

White shrugged when the other physician looked at him. "I simply explained the procedure in lay terms."

Mackland rolled his eyes. "Do you understand about the ventilator?"

Sam's eyes went wide at the term and then sought out the machine now being set up next to his brother's bed. A wave of terror washed over him. He recognized it from countless TV medical dramas. "Why does he need that?" the teen asked harshly. He sent a challenging glare to Mac. "He's breathing on his own."

"In a hypothermic state, Sam, Dean's body is going to need more oxygen," Ames began in his most pragmatic, lecturer's voice.

His patient cut him off with a rolling of his eyes. "Sammy, take it easy. It's…just Mac being _Mac_. Mister Cautious."

"I don't like it," Sam replied, sounding much younger than his thirteen years.

Dean forced a grin. "Me neither, little brother."

"You going to be okay with all this, Ace?" John asked.

"It'll be fine, Dad." Dean looked up at his father. "Besides, I can take a little frostbite if it gets rid of this headache." He shot Caleb a look out of the corner of his eye. "Piece of cake."

Sam again looked at Mac. "Hypothermia is dangerous." Hunting was an outdoor career most of the time, forcing those who participated in it to be well-versed in survival skills. Sam knew how to counter the cold killer since he was seven or eight, but he never once ever heard of it being helpful. "It can kill you." He added, accusingly, his glare shifting between the physicians and his father.

When Mac didn't answer right away, Dr. White took it upon himself. "Only if it's not controlled, Sam. Lots of things are dangerous in the medical world. Take radiation for instance. Definitely not something you want to be willfully exposed to, because it will bring about a slow and torturous death, but it can cure cancer and save a life if it's used in the right way."

"Do you mind not traumatizing…my little brother any further?" Dean shook his head slightly. He looked at Sam, who'd turned green. His breath was shaky and it was difficult to say long sentences. "Look, Sammy, it's not like I'm out lost in the woods, okay. I won't get that cold."

Sam frowned, moving closer to the bed. "Will it hurt?" he whispered, his eyes leaving Dean's and traveling to Mac's.

"No," Dean answered, quickly. "I'll be asleep, right, Mac?"

Mac nodded. "Of course."

"I still don't want you to do it." Sam reached through the bars of the hospital bed and grasped his brother's hand, not caring who was standing by or worrying about how Dean might tease him about it later.

That old familiar fear was back, the thirteen-year-old felt six again. He needed nothing more than his brother to tell him it was all going to be alright. If the panic got much worse, Sam was sure he would crawl right up in the bed with Dean and refuse to let go. "Something might go wrong."

"Son." John laid his hand on Sam's shoulder. "We don't have a choice here."

Sam again looked at Mac. "Can't _you _do something? You helped me."

Mackland sighed. "Samuel, _this_ is all that I can do."

"It'll be okay, Sammy."

Sam felt the first tear slide down his cheek. He hated the way it made Dean physically flinch, causing him even more pain, but he couldn't help it. This was his fault, and no matter what the doctors, Caleb, his father or even Dean said, Sam was terrified this would be the last time he'd talk to his brother.

He still hadn't apologized for all the things he'd said before his trip, nor had he told Dean what a great big brother he was. "Don't let go. Okay?" He choked, holding his brother's gaze, praying he'd get another opportunity. "Just don't let go."

Dean tightened his grip on his brother's hand again. "I won't, little brother. I promise."

RcJ


	11. Chapter 11

Heroes Revisited

Chapter 11

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thanks to all reviewers and to Tidia,who I know took time out of writing her own story to not only beta this but to talk me down off the ledge that Paper Tiger puts me on and who brain stormed with me forever on the phone about To The Victor 'Go' the Spoils. Thanks to the reviewer who pointed out that little faux paux. Just a big thanks to everyone. There...I feel better. Stomach virus be damned, I am determined to post this for you all. (Insert mental picture of Joan of Arc here).

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Caleb glanced up from the magazine he was reading, catching Sam staring at the clock on the wall-again. "Cut out the pot-watching, Runt."

"The what?"

The older hunter rolled his eyes"You know, the watched pot never boils." Sam frowned, but at least he wasn't staring at the wall, willing the hours to pass by. "Don't you have homework to do or something?"

Sam glanced down at his books spread around him on the hospital bed. "I want to see Dean."

Caleb sighed. "So you haven't changed your mind in the last…" He glanced at his watch, "Seventy-two seconds."

"It's been eighteen hours and twenty-seven minutes since they started."

"Well at least you're keeping up those math skills." Caleb tried to pretend he was once again engrossed in what Madonna was planning for her next album. He'd been through this with Sam about ten times already. The adults had gotten together and decided Sam did not need to stand witness to his brother's precarious state. They'd banned him from Dean's room-sentencing him to wait for updates brought by either Mac or John. John divided his time between sitting with Dean and arguing with Sam.

"It's not fair."

Caleb physically felt the words singe his nerve endings. He had to shut himself off from the teen's emotions. "Sammy, I figured you of all people would know that life's not fair."

Sam slid from the bed and moved to stand in front of Caleb's long legs. "He's my brother."

That was about the twentieth time the other hunter had heard that exact statement. He felt the same about Dean, and wished he could be part of the vigil. He knew Dean would want him to watch over Sam though, so he followed those wishes. His father had also discouraged him from visiting Dean.

"Look, Sammy," he leaned forward, catching the boy by the shoulders. "I get it, okay. Believe me. I got it last night, and early this morning before I'd even had my coffee, and then tonight at dinner. You're worried about him. So am I. But, you know your dad. After he's made up his mind, it would take a lead pipe to get him to change it."

Some of the frustration left Sam's eyes replaced with haunted longing, and for a moment Caleb felt his own resolve slip. "But he's wrong, Caleb."

The older hunter released him with a sigh. "And that's stopped him before?" John was wrong about a lot of things. It was as much a fact of life as things not being fair.

There they were- the dreaded puppy dog eyes. Sam had somehow sensed his moment of weakness and pounced on it. "You could talk to him."

Caleb laughed with a shake of his head. "He's trying to protect you, Sam. And Mac supported the idea too." If it had just been John then Caleb would have given in, but his father had also warned him to keep Sam away from the ICU. His father's words were easily recalled. 'It won't do either one of you any good to see him like this, Son.'

Sam growled. "Protect me from what?" The righteous teenage indignation was back. If he hadn't known better, Caleb would have sworn the boy was possessed as fast as his emotions were see-sawing. "I already know what's happening. I even read some of Mac's journal articles about it."

Caleb rubbed his weary eyes. "But knowing and watching are two different things, kid. Think about all the bad shit you've researched. Has it ever prepared you for coming face to face with the evil sons of bitches we hunt?"

"No." Sam shrugged.

"Trust me, Sam. It's not easy to watch someone suffer." Caleb understood that all too well. He'd been forced through his visions to watch helplessly as others were hurt and killed. Sam would know that pain for himself one day. It was inevitable. Perhaps Reaves could understand John and Mac wanting to help him hold onto a trace of his innocence for a little longer.

But Sam couldn't see past his own need for Dean. "You don't get it, Caleb. My imagination is worse." Sam bit his lip. "Every time I close my eyes, I see…"

"What?" Caleb heard himself asking, then the tell-tale squeaking of the lid to Pandora's Box opening.

Sam shook his head, unwilling or unable to explain the images his mind was offering to him. "I just want to make sure he's okay for myself. I'm tired of hearing Dad's censored crap, talking to me like I'm four." He turned his pleading gaze on Caleb again. "I just want Dean to know I'm here-that I haven't abandoned him." Sam sighed. "You told me that I could count on you-that Dean could count on you. No matter what you said you had our backs."

"Sammy. . ."

"Please, Uncle Caleb."

"Damn it! You're going to owe me." Caleb threw his magazine down and stood up. He looked down at Sam. "I'm not your uncle **and** you're spoiled."

The teen shrugged. "I can blame that on you and Dean."

"Next birthday you're just getting a card." Caleb glanced up at the clock. It was just after six. John stopped by about thirty minutes earlier when they were eating to tell them he was going out for a couple of hours. That gave them some time. "Shit." The hunter exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his rough day's growth of beard.

Sam was still watching him curiously when Caleb turned suddenly and pressed the nurse's call button. The boy's eyebrow arched and the other hunter grinned, despite himself. "You're not the only one who's charmed the lovely nurses around here."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Nurse McCoy had apparently been quite charmed. She was very willing to find out who was on shift in the ICU. She also informed Caleb that Dr. Ames was sleeping in the intern's break room and Nurse Attila the Hun was out for the rest of the evening. She even went so far as to call ahead and let her associate Rachel know about the situation.

After Rachel heard the heartbreaking story of how Sammy had awoken from a terrible nightmare about his brother, inconsolable-even by his Uncle Caleb's reassurances that Dean was all right, she had no problem bending the rules-marginally. After all, a still-recovering Sam would know no rest until he saw his big brother with his own two eyes.

"Look a little more distressed, and a little less like the cat who swallowed the canary," Caleb snapped as he and Sam exited the elevator onto the ICU ward. He even went so far as to reach up and muss the kid's long hair, which succeeded at least in erasing the dopey smile from Sam's face.

Sam tried to hide the triumphant grin. He was finally going to see Dean after what seemed like much longer than a mere day and a half. Sooner or later the adults were going to have to start seeing beyond little 'Sammy'. This was only the first of many victories.

Rachel grinned at Caleb from behind the nurse's station and nodded to the appropriate door. "I just checked on your nephew. Dr. White shouldn't make another round until around 8:00." She weaved her way around to them and glanced at Sam.

Sam didn't miss the way her blue eyes softened when she gazed at him. It was similar to the way women looked when they were cooing over newborn babies or picking up cute and helpless puppies and kittens. Dean told him his ability to cause that same reflex would someday work wonders for him. Sam wasn't quite sure what that meant, but if it got him in to see his brother he was all for using it.

"We really appreciate you doing this for us, Rachel. Sammy wasn't going to be able to sleep without seeing his big brother."

Sam rolled his eyes at the sugary way Caleb was carrying on. Reaves smiled at Rachel and Nurse Hottie all but melted on the spot. Sam had seen his brother use that same technique countless times and it sent a pang of longing through his chest. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, thanks. I just really needed to see Dean."

"Ah, your brother's doing fine, sweetie. I'm sure he wouldn't want you upset." Alison brushed her hand against Sam's shoulder and gave him her most dazzling smile. "You Winchesters are a handsome bunch." She glanced back up at Caleb. "You look a lot like your uncle."

Sam gave a soft groan and moved towards the door of his brother's room. He heard Caleb offer another heartfelt thank you and a quick invitation for coffee later. Sam was surprised the nurse didn't scrawl her number on a tongue depressor right then and there.

At the entrance to Dean's room, Sam hesitated. His hand hovered above the door knob. After all his urgency and demands to see his brother, he felt his resolve waver-something making him wary of entering.

Caleb's hand came to rest on his shoulder and Sam felt some of the apprehension dissolve. The older hunger nudged him. "It's still Dean, Sammy."

Sam glanced up at him and nodded. He bravely crossed the threshold into his brother's room.

The temperature drop was only slight, but goose bumps appeared on Sam's bare arms, causing him to shiver. He swallowed hard as his heart rate increased. He felt almost lightheaded as his eyes fell to the bed where his brother was laying.

Sam felt Caleb tense beside him. Mild apprehension rocketed towards terror. Disbelief crashed into outrage. And worry ballooned to panic. "Oh God," he muttered, wanting nothing more than to bolt out the door.

Maybe Caleb could do a mental purge, banishing this image from Sam's brain all together-sending it to wherever Sam had locked all memories of his time with the raw head. "Sam-maybe we should go."

Caleb's voice seemed far away as he walked towards the mass of machinery and equipment surrounding Dean. The ominous hiss of the ventilator filled the room, along with the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Dean was either asleep or unconscious. Mac had explained the light sedation, but no one told him his brother was going to be strapped down during this 'twilight' state. The teen shakily reached out and ran his fingers over the padded restraints holding his brother's arms to his sides.

"They were probably afraid he'd try to pull out the breathing tube," Caleb said, the breathy quality to his voice brought Sam's gaze to him. He read the same anger in Reaves's eyes. The whole image of his larger than life brother strapped down and wired up was disturbing and horribly wrong.

A thin, blue, plastic blanket covered Dean. The massive bruising on his upper chest and shoulder stood out in contrast to the white sheet beneath him. His eyes were taped shut. There were I.V. lines in both his arms, and countless wires running beneath the blanket, a few attached to Dean's temple. A tube rushed air into his lungs at a much faster rate than normal, but it was the shivering wracking Dean's body that almost sent Sam over the edge. "Dean?" The kid choked.

Caleb glanced back at the door. "Sam…we should go."

Again Sam looked at the older man. It was obvious seeing Dean was torturing Caleb. Sam wasn't sure if he wanted escape for himself or to protect Sam by leaving but it wasn't going to happen that way.

The thirteen-year-old returned his gaze to his brother. Mackland had assured them the procedure was working. The intracranial pressure had leveled, and he was optimistic in the coming days it would decrease. Dean would be fine. But, God, this did not look _fine. _

Dean looked pale and vulnerable. Sam was afraid to touch him. He glanced at Caleb again and found no reassurance in the older hunter's face. He caught the rawness of emotion before the man could mask it. Sam felt worse, and did what came naturally. He sought out some kind of comfort from this brother.

Wrapping his fingers carefully around Dean's hand, he felt his eyes sting when the coldness of his brother's skin seeped into him, making his own bones ache. "Oh, Dean," he whispered, not remembering a time when he'd ever seen his brother like this. Sam had seen Dean bruised, bloodied, and concussed on more than one occasion. But never this helpless and hurt. Never this fragile and defenseless. This was not Dean. It could **not** be Captain Onehelluva Big Brother. There was no way.

"Sammy," Caleb said quietly, after the boy's first choked sob. "Let's get out of here."

Instead of agreeing, Sam did the exact opposite. He curled over the bed, laying his own body against Dean's chest. Sam tried to offer some warmth from the obvious cold Dean was enduring, shelter from the pain. He felt himself being pulled into the dark abyss of his brother's misery, but then Caleb's hand on his back anchored him. "Take it easy, Runt."

"I'm so sorry." Sam whispered over again between his quiet sobs. Sam focused completely on his attrition, ignoring Caleb's attempts to offer solace. This was all Sam's fault. Dean was suffering because of his stupid need to protect Sam.

"Caleb? Samuel?" The stern voice broke Sam's recriminations. A very unhappy Mackland Ames was glaring at them from the door of Dean's room. "What in Christ's name are you boys doing?"

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Caleb glanced guiltily up at his father. "Hey, Mac," he said casually, running a hand over his tied back hair. "How was your nap?"

Mackland's frown deepened as he stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him. Caleb noticed the fatigue and concern in the older man's eyes, not to mention a whole lot of anger. "I thought you understood John's wishes-**my** wishes."

Caleb shrugged. "They were sort of vague, Dad."

"They were not, Caleb!" Ames placed a large hand on Sam's shoulder and drew the boy away from his brother. "Samuel?"

The boy looked up, his breath hitched. He motioned towards his brother. "Mac?"

"What's all this about?" Mackland knelt, bringing him eye level with the teen. "I told you this morning that things were looking good for Dean."

Caleb looked at his father in disbelief. Who was he kidding? Nothing about Dean looked good. Did the man think that optimistic 'doctor' speak was going to work now that they had seen Dean for themselves? "Then why is he shaking?" Sam asked, and Caleb caught himself before he said 'Yeah?'

"Sam, Dean's not in pain. He's unconscious. We won't wake him up until we can start the warming process. I promise."

Caleb frowned. He brushed his hand against Dean's foot, opening himself for whatever he might find. It was there, and not faint like Mac was falsely leading Sam to believe.

"I don't believe you. I know my brother."

"Give me your hand." Caleb spoke to Sam. His father's angry look converted to one of warning, but he didn't try to stop his son.

Sam looked at him, fear raced beneath the dark gaze, but then he reached out. Caleb took his hand, touching Dean's foot again, closing his eyes. When Sam gasped, he held tighter until he found what he was searching for-_Deuce. _

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

Caleb opened his eyes again. "Told you it's still your brother." Sometimes his abilities weren't all bad. Sam needed to find that connection with Dean again-to regain his footing. Dean needed it, too. So did Caleb.

"He's afraid," Sam whispered, holding Caleb's hand.

The psychic nodded. "But he knows you're here now. That's all that matters. You reached him, just like he reached you."

A slight relieved smile edged its way onto Sam's face, but the banging of the door behind them and the angry shout had him and Caleb wincing. His unconscious brother seemed to perceive the threat and before Reaves could get them out, they both felt Dean's fear and panic.

Dean's voice screamed at Caleb to protect Sam against the threat, not realizing it was his own father, raving and ranting.

"Dean?" Sam's voice shook.

Monitors picked up Dean's change in heart rate, beeping loudly, causing John Winchester to shout again. "What the hell is going on here? Caleb?"

Caleb felt Sam jerk away from him, the teen's eyes going to Dean's completely lax face. Reaves was relieved no distress registered on Dean's pale features, but Mac was still hovering over him, checking the monitors.

"Calm down, John," Mackland said, laying his hand on Dean's forehead. "You're upsetting everyone."

"Me?" John snapped, but lowered his voice. "How the hell am I the bad guy?"

Caleb reeled against Dean's internal struggle to protect his brother, even if his physical body was completely helpless. He tightened his grip on Dean's foot. He tried to convey matters were under control before relinquishing the link completely. He turned to John. "I can explain…" Caleb started only to be shoved roughly out of the way.

John grabbed Sam by the shirt and shook him. "I told you to stay out of this room, Sam!" He shook the boy again, causing Sam to gasp. "I've had enough of this insubordination shit, do you understand me? I'm sick of it."

"Let him go!" Caleb grabbed John's arm, and his mentor instinctively drew back to take a swing at him.

"John!" Mac interrupted. More monitors picked up Dean's distress. "Stop it. Now."

"I'm sorry." Sam cried. "I'm sorry." He pulled away from his father and ran past Caleb and John out the door.

John lowered his fist and pulled from Caleb's grasp. He turned to go, but this time Mackland caught his arm. "I don't think you're in any state to talk with Sam at the moment."

Caleb whole-heartedly agreed with his father on that matter. He had seen John livid before, and witnessed Dean take the worst of it. It wouldn't be safe for Sam or Caleb to have him go off half-cocked, since he'd really hate to shoot the man.

Hardly any sleep and more than a lifetime's share of worry did not bode well for John Winchester. He was afraid the man would do something he would regret. Something Caleb would regret. After all, this little disaster was his entire fault, too. He should have never brought Sam up to see his brother. "I'll go talk to him."

"Like hell, Reaves!" John snarled. "Haven't you done enough? I trusted you to watch him."

Ames sighed when Winchester pulled away from him and moved towards Caleb. With a slight nod of the physician's head John was pinned snuggly to the opposite wall, his feet dangling several inches from the floor. "Let's not be ugly about this, Johnathan."

Caleb raised a brow, surprised his father resorted to using his telekinetic ability against one of his own. "Go," Mac told him as John growled threats from his helpless position.

Caleb sent another unsure glance to his father and then let his eyes fall to Dean once more. "I'm sorry," he echoed Sam's words and followed in the teen's wake.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

"When I get off of here, Mackland, I'm so going to kick your ass."

"Sure you are." Ames kept his hand on Dean in a gesture of reassurance.

"Then I'm going to kick Caleb's ass while you watch." John struggled against his invisible restraints. "And then I'm going to tell Jim-_everything_."

Mac's deep laughter filled the room, overshadowing the hum and hiss of the equipment. "Is that before or after you kick my son's ass? Somehow I believe Jim will have issue with that."

"Damn you." John growled. "Let me off of here."

"No." Mackland crossed his arms over his chest. "Not until you promise not to terrify small children and treat those around you like tender-footed privates. And let's not forget, upsetting your extremely sick child."

"He okay?" John asked wearily.

Mac couldn't stand the wounded tone to his friend's voice. Despite the fact of being an obstinate bastard, John was still a father underneath all his raging bravado. Ames tilted his head and John dropped safely to the floor, landing on his feet like a cat.

"He's still improving, and would have been even better if you hadn't scared him to death thinking something terrible was coming to get his little brother and Caleb."

John rolled his shoulders. He made his way to his son's bedside. "I didn't mean to scare Sam or Dean."

Mackland noticed he didn't include Caleb's name in the apology. He clenched his jaw to keep from pointing it out.

John laid his hand on his son's head. "I was trying to…"

"Protect them," Ames cut him off. "I know. But there comes a time when protection begins to cost more than its worth, my friend." He waited for John to look at him. He wanted there to be no misunderstandings. "And I cannot allow you to threaten my child too."

John looked at him. "You knew my wishes. So did your son."

"John, you know Caleb cannot bear the thought of disappointing you or your family. To his detriment perhaps. . ."

"Yeah, well, he was wrong." John placed his hand on his son's arm.

Mackland snorted. "That was very mature of you, Johnathan. Sometimes you act Sam's age instead of your own."

"And like using your super powers to fling me against the wall was such a mature move?" John shook his head. "You're such the grown-up."

Mackland's mustache twitched. "I could have suspended you upside down in mid-air…like a bat."

"You've been wanting to do that for long time haven't you?" John asked.

Obviously, Mac had not hidden his smile well. As a doctor he had patience, and an oath to follow, but sometimes certain stubborn men of The Brotherhood tested him. Plus, as his son had said on occasion when he used his abilities on the fairer sex, what's the use in having powers if you couldn't use them every once in awhile for your own gain. "I am a man of great restraint, Johnathan. Great restraint."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Sam took the stairs, relishing in the extra energy it took to maneuver each step. He skipped some taking three at a time, pushing his body, trying to erase the images of his brother, forgetting the anger rolling off his father. He was breathing heavily, his heart lurching against his chest as he burst through the doors to the pediatrics floor, and then ran towards the sanctuary of his room. Nurse McCoy glanced up from her papers. Sam blocked her out, went into his room and closed the door. He attempted to regain his breath.

"Sam?"

The concerned voice had him straightening up, tensing at the unexpected company.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Taylor slowly stood up from the chair. He took a tentative step towards his student. "Sam, answer me. Are you okay?"

Sam rushed towards him and collapsed in his arms. "It's my fault," he whispered, his face buried against the older man's chest. "Everything's messed up because of me."

Taylor hesitated before wrapping his arms around the young teen's quivering frame. "Hey, take it easy there, champ. Everything's going to be okay."

Sam could not believe his eyes when he saw Mr. Taylor standing in the room, looking so much like his big brother, wearing jeans and a faded Red Sox t-shirt. This momentary stand-in offered some reprieve and shelter.

"Sam? Did something happen to Dean?"

Before Sam could answer the door to the room once again swung open. Taylor took a step back, pulling Sam along with him as an outraged Caleb Reaves entered the room.

"Get your fucking hands off of him." Caleb growled.

Taylor lifted his hands in the air away from the teenager. "Take it easy."

"Caleb!" Sam turned, facing the threat, placing himself in front of his teacher. "It's all right. God! Get a grip."

Taylor visibly relaxed as Caleb stopped, let his gaze go to Sam's face before once more focusing his eerily gold-colored eyes on the teacher.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"I'm Sam's teacher. Taylor White. I stopped by to check in on Sam and Dean."

Caleb frowned, but relaxed his stance some. "Yeah, I think we spoke on the phone."

"Right. You sounded…smaller."

Caleb ignored him. "You alright, Sammy?"

"I'm fine. Next time try to ask questions first."

Caleb took him by the arm and edged him to the far side of the room. "Sorry, I sensed a stranger…and you were upset…and then he had his hands on you…"

Sam shook his head. He could understand. They were both on edge. "He was…I needed…"

Sam looked away, embarrassed at his moment of weakness and that he couldn't find the words to explain how he was feeling.

Caleb reached out, and lifted Sam's chin. "Forgive me for being a little freaked, cause this may be the last time you see me breathing after I blatantly disregarded your father's orders." He lowered his voice. "A teacher could just as easily be some bad-assed demon. And if I do one more thing wrong, Deuce will never let me hear the end of it. Pastor Jim is going to kick me out of The Brotherhood and Mac is going to disinherit me."

Sam tilted his head. "I'm sorry. I get it. I'm okay. Really." He chewed at his bottom lip. "But, is Dad coming up here?"

Caleb shrugged. "He was held up. There's time to strategize. You want me to leave you alone for a bit?"

"Are you going to be okay?" Sam hadn't missed the look in Caleb's eyes in the ICU. First there was the concern for Dean and then the mixture of guilt and apprehension when his Dad had burst in on them.

Caleb nodded. "And we both know that Deuce is going to be okay. Right?"

It took Sam a moment, but finally he nodded. "Yeah. He's going to fine."

Reaves squeezed his shoulder and then let him go. "I'm going to step outside for a bit."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked as the other man started to turn away.

"Well, I have a coffee date." Caleb gave Sam his typical half-assed grin. "Taking another one for the team, and all."

Before Sam could reply the older hunter stepped towards Taylor. Sam didn't miss the way the teacher flinched when Reaves extended his hand. "I'm sorry about before, White. It's been a rough few days."

Taylor shook Caleb's hand and forced a smile. "Don't worry about it." He glanced at Sam and then back to Reaves. "How's Dean doing?"

Caleb ran a hand through his hair, letting it slide down to rub at the tense muscles in his neck. "He's hanging in there."

Taylor smiled. "That's good news. I'm sure our baseball coach will think so too."

"You going to be here for awhile?" Caleb asked the teacher, his gaze flicking once more to the youngest Winchester.

"I will." Taylor smiled at his student. "It'll take a while to catch Sam up on all the gossip…I mean homework he's missed."

"Good. I'll be back in a few, Sammy."

Sam nodded, watching the hunter leave the room before glancing sheepishly up at his teacher. The weight of his temporary breakdown and Caleb's bad ass routine hung heavily on his shoulders.

"So, that's your uncle?" Taylor asked.

Sam nodded.

"Got to be your dad's brother, definite family resemblance."

Sam just looked at him.

Taylor smiled. "You have one scary family."

Sam grinned. "You don't know the half of it, Mr. Taylor."

RcJ


	12. Chapter 12

Heroes Revisited

Chapter 12

Beta: Tidia

A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters of the story, both because of John's part and the Sam and Dean conversation at the end. Tidia is to thank for the added Jim part. And bless her for trying to help fix POV in this monster-which we gave up on since it wasn't originally written with that in mind. She is so dang patient. There should only be one more chapter after this one. Wow. This 'little' project has taken all summer, not including the time Tidia put in revising the first edition, but I am so glad you all have been reading and reviewing. I have truly appreciated the chance to retell this story. Thank you.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

"I have something for you." Taylor moved to the chair he had occupied before Sam and Caleb burst in. "A few things actually."

Sam raised a brow. "Really?"

The teacher retrieved a couple of books, a huge folded piece of cardboard and what looked like a lunch bag. He handed the card to Sam first. "All the class signed this, but I think it is important that you know it was Kelley that mounted and organized the operation. She's hoping you'll be back at school before the banquet."

Sam's face brightened slightly and the teacher continued. "Cody was very worried about you being bored, so he sent two of his favorite reads."

Sam took the books and smiled at the titles. _Ornithology-Mystery of the Skies. Treasure Island. _"Tell Owl I said thanks."

"And last but not least, this is from your buddy Shelton." Taylor presented the brown bag. "He said to tell you that it was your share of the _loot_. He made me promise not to look and said you'd understand."

Sam took the bag and carefully peeked inside, the faint blush from before blossomed like paint across his somewhat pale face. He quickly folded the bag back up and tossed it on his bed. "Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Taylor."

The teacher crossed his arms over his chest. "No problem, Sam. Now, tell me how you're really doing?"

Sam leaned back against the bed, staring at the man in front of him. "I'm fine."

"Okay." Taylor flashed him an understanding smile, ignoring Sam's earlier breakdown. "That's good to hear. So you'll be getting out of here pretty soon then?"

The teen shrugged. "I'm not leaving until Dean gets out."

Taylor nodded. "And how's that looking?"

"My uncle Mac says that the procedure is working." Sam cleared his throat. "But…"

"But?"

"I don't think I've ever been as scared as I was when they were talking about all the things that could go wrong."

Taylor bobbed his head knowingly. "Doctors aren't always very understanding. I think they're born pessimistic."

Sam nodded. "Especially one of Dean's doctors. He's a real jerk. His idea of making me feel better was to explain the cool thing about radiation treatments."

"I'm sure I know which one you're speaking of." Again Taylor nodded in sympathy. "Trust me, I understand. I once had the flu and Dean's doctor tried comforting me by explaining how lucky I was not to have small pox. He even had pictures and a video demonstration."

When the teen frowned, his teacher sighed. "I know it's hard to believe, but underneath it all, he **is **a nice guy, and actually graduated in the top ten percent of his class. Dean couldn't be in more capable hands, even if he is lacking on the bedside manner."

"You know Dean's doctor?"

"Yeah, I know Ryan like you know Dean. DNA is amazing, huh? I share more of it with him than anyone else on the planet-and yet, it's like he's an alien."

With all the excitement, Sam hadn't even realized the physician treating his brother had the same last name as his teacher nor did he recall that Taylor had told him his brother was a doctor in their conversation at the camp. "I guess I'm not used to using your last name."

"Yeah, _Mr. White_, is so my dad. I just couldn't bring myself to go there."

For the second time since Mr. Taylor had arrived, Sam felt a rush of embarrassment. "I'm sorry about what I said about him."

"Don't be," Taylor waved Sam's apology off. "Like I said, he's a good doctor. Just ask my mother, or my father, or my grandmother, or even old man Dickson down at the butcher's shop. Heck, anyone in the tri-state area that my mother can reach by phone, they'll be glad to sing his praises."

"Sometimes I forget how special my brother is-how important he is." Dean was home. The only home that Sam had ever known.

"It's easy to take those around us for granted, Sam."

"I tried to tell him that I was sorry."

"Let me guess, he looked at you like you were an idiot."

"Yeah, but I still need to say it, even if he doesn't want to hear it, even if he's forgotten about it. I'll make him listen." Sam's eyes had a pleading quality to them. "I have to make it right. I don't want him to feel differently about me."

"I can understand you needing to say you're sorry, Sam, but I don't think Dean could or would feel differently about you either way." The teacher shrugged. "Sometimes, sorry is more for the offender than the person who was offended. It can ring pretty hollow if you're not careful."

The teenager glanced up guiltily. "I…I just want to stop feeling so bad."

Taylor sighed.

"You just don't understand what he is to me."

"He's your hero."

Sam's frown deepened, but he didn't deny the other man's words, so Taylor continued. "Not the kind that can leap tall buildings in a single bound, or catch a bullet with their teeth, but the kind that steadies you when you're about to fall."

"Captain Onehulluva Big Brother," Sam said softly, ducking his head.

Taylor chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

The teen looked up. "But how do you repay somebody for being all that?"

"You don't." The teacher shrugged. "Although cutting them some slack on the whole 'I know what's best just because I'm older' thing is a start. And I've found that a good rare steak and some cold beer goes a long way with Ryan."

"For Dean it's cheeseburgers and a shake."

"See-now you're thinking. Although I wouldn't advise sneaking that in. Ryan would go all doctor on you, and then confiscate it for the benefit of his patient-meaning you'd be buying _my _brother lunch, instead of yours." Taylor reached out and squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Don't worry though; I'm sure something will come to you."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Caleb reclined on the bench in the small meditation garden and pressed his cell phone to his ear. He ignored the sign that said no cell phones in the meditation garden "Hey Moose, how are things going?"

Oliver Havers, otherwise known as Moose was Caleb's friend from college and supervisor for his construction company. He had given Oliver temporary control over their current job while Reaves remained at the hospital.

"Skid! How the hell is Little Dude?"

Caleb grinned at the odd nickname. It was appropriate when Dean was eleven, but now it didn't seem right. Although Moose's bulking frame and height made almost everyone a 'little dude' in comparison. "Dean's hanging in there."

"And the runt of the litter?"

"Sam's doing better."

"Good. Don't worry about shop stuff. I've got it all under control."

Reaves snorted. "As long as you're not using your crayons to doodle on any of the blue prints again."

"Dude, those were brilliant additions."

"Moose, stick to drawing football plays for your city league team. Stay away from my sketches."

Oliver laughed. "Bring Dean up for another visit when he's on his feet. Last time was a blast.."

"Like the kid needs any more bad influences."

"Seriously, take all the time you need, man. You've only got one family."

"Right." Caleb cleared his throat. "I'll see you soon." Reaves shut the phone off and slipped it back into his pocket. He leaned his elbows on his knees and raked a hand over his mouth. If he kept screwing up, there wouldn't be any family left. He was about to return to Sam's room when he heard a voice call out to him.

"Hello, my boy."

Out of the dark shadows of the evening stepped Pastor Jim Murphy. "Jim!" Reaves stood.

Jim reached out to him, engulfed him in a quick hug. Caleb smiled, then frowned when he noticed the white bandage on the pastor's forehead. "Are you okay?"

"This is nothing." Self-consciously Murphy touched the bandage. "Joshua took care of it; but don't tell your father. How are our boys?"

"Not good." Caleb was relived he could make a confession. He glanced down at the ground. "God, Jim, I screwed up. Sam was unconscious because I projected through him, and now he's fine, but Dean. . .Dad had to put him in a hypothermic state to lower the cranial pressure." Reaves looked at the pastor. "To make a long story short, I screwed up and the boys nearly died because of it."

Jim blinked, taking in the information. Murphy gripped the young hunter's forearm. "Somehow, Caleb, I believe there is more to it and it is not your fault at all."

"But, Sam. . ." Caleb had been fully aware of what he was doing to Sam. He'd plowed straight ahead, damn the consequences.

Jim shook his head, unwilling to listen to Reaves's negativity. "We're you trying to save him? Save Dean perhaps?"

Caleb rubbed his mouth. It wasn't so simple. "Well, yes, but I should have. . ."

"I assume there was nothing else you could do?"

"No, there didn't seem like any other choice, but there are always choices." Caleb thinned his lips. "You're always saying that."

Jim lightly tapped the psychic's face. "I trust you, Caleb. I trust you to make the right choices where the Winchesters are concerned. I always have. Sometimes I don't think you make the best choices for yourself. Seems like all my boys have a self-sacrificing streak in them." Jim gestured to the doors. "Can you take me to them?"

"Yeah, but you're going to have to deal with Johnny first." Caleb cringed at having to explain how he had gone against John's wishes.

Jim smiled. "Your father mentioned as much. You took the brunt of that?"

Caleb shrugged. "I can take it. Sam's a different story, and is going to need reinforcements."

"Then let's not let him down."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Sam stiffened when John Winchester entered the room, but relaxed when he saw Pastor Jim following behind him along with Caleb. He glanced to Mr. Taylor. "You get to meet some more of my scary family." The teen commented to his teacher. "Hi Pastor Jim."

"Samuel, I'm glad to see you are feeling better." Jim gave a warm grin to the teen.

An apprehensive thought crossed Sam's mind. "Is Dean okay?"

"We just left him, and Mackland said he was doing better than expected." Murphy replied and Sam felt relieved.

John stepped forward. "Mr. Taylor, Caleb told me you were visiting."

"Mr. Winchester." Taylor extended his hand, wincing at the man's forceful grip. "Like I explained to your brother, I just dropped by to check in on Sam, bring him some things from school."

"I'm Jim Murphy. Nice to meet you and I know John appreciates your attentiveness to your students."

Taylor accepted the warm handshake. The gray haired man was different from the others. Caleb remained leaning near the door.

John rolled his eyes at Pastor Jim, but kept up with the small talk. "Sam's been keeping up with his homework. I hope this won't affect his grades."

"No." Taylor shook his head. "Sam's grades are solid."

"Yeah, sometimes it's almost like he knows everything." John stared at his son again, and Sam swallowed hard. "Or at least thinks he does."

"Well, I guess I should be going."

"Do you have to?" Sam asked, suddenly. "I mean you haven't even told me what next week's assignments are."

"Actually, we're just watching a video, playing some games. It is the last week of school." Taylor smiled sympathetically at Sam. "All work and no play makes us teachers think we have a real job."

"Well, it was good of you to stop by." Caleb moved away from the door.

"I hope you'll be back before the dance, Sam. It won't be the same without you. Give Dean my best." He tilted his head apologetically in Sam's direction before opening the door. "Good luck," Taylor quickly added before leaving and closing the door behind him.

"You disobeyed a direct order." John reached out both his hands to clasp the boy's slim shoulders before he could move closer to Pastor Jim and Reaves. "I don't give orders just to hear myself speak, Sammy."

"Johnathan," Jim warned.

"This order wasn't fair."

John glared at Jim. The pastor put his hands up in peace and joined a contrite Caleb near the door.

"Fair?" The eldest Winchester sat on the corner of the bed. "To who? You? Me? Your brother? And since when is anything I tell you up for debate?"

Sam glanced down; avoiding his father's gaze only comforted by the fact Caleb and Jim were in the room so there would be no bloodshed. "But I needed to see him."

John reached out and lifted his son's chin so they were looking at each other. "And I needed to protect you from seeing him. Do you think Dean wanted you to see him that way? Look how upset you got."

Sam jerked his head away from his father. "Dean wouldn't have wanted me locked away like some little kid."

"Really?" John leaned out of his son's personal space. "Well, that's funny considering he made me promise not to let you visit him if it got bad. I gave him my word."

A disbelieving look crossed Sam's face.

"What? You don't believe me? His exact words were, and I quote…'Don't cave to Sammy, Dad. The kid doesn't need anything else to have nightmares about'. "

The teen frowned. It sounded just like something his brother would say, and the thought of it made his eyes water. "He's in pain," he whispered.

John sighed, running his hand through his son's hair. "I know, kiddo. But he's getting better. We have to focus on that." Mac and Jim were right; anger wasn't going to help either of his boys.

"It didn't look like Dean."

"Your brother is still in there, son."

"I know." Sam nodded, lifting his gaze hopefully. "That's what Caleb said- what he was trying to show me."

John turned around. "Yeah, well, he wouldn't have needed to do that if he'd kept your ass here like he was supposed to."

"I'm sorry. I fuc--. . ." Caleb started, then chose a different word, aware of the pastor. "I screwed up."

"It wasn't his fault." Sam interrupted.

John stared at his son. "Let's look at this from my point of view. You- believe it or not- just turned thirteen, not more than two weeks ago. Caleb, on the other hand, is twenty-five. He should know better." Winchester glanced in Reaves's direction again. "I expected him to know better."

Caleb sighed and left the room. Jim gave John a disappointing look, and followed the psychic out.

Sam moved back to his bed and sat down. "I am sorry, Dad. I guess my imagination wasn't as bad as I thought. I should have listened to you."

"Can I have that in writing? That way I can pull it out in the coming years to prove to you that just because I'm your old man, I'm not always wrong."

"It still wouldn't be a binding contract, Dad."

John rolled his eyes. "Still sticking with the lawyer thing I see?"

"Well that or maybe a teacher."

"Teacher?" John sighed. "Stick to law-at least _that_ we can probably use in our family, and they make a lot more money." He ruffled his son's hair. "Which means more ammo."

Sam laughed, a yawn catching him off guard. "So Dean's really going to be okay, Dad?"

John reached down, grabbed one of Sam's feet and slipped his tennis shoes off. "Yeah, Sammy, he is. I promise I'll keep you updated, and as soon as he's a little more himself, I'll make sure you can sit with him as much as you want. You'll be there when he wakes up. Okay?"

The teen nodded, didn't protest when his father removed his other shoe and pulled the covers up over his legs. "I'm glad he's going to be okay. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have Dean."

"I know what you mean." John patted his youngest son's chest, before turning off the Donald Duck lamp. The both of them would be in big trouble without the older boy for several reasons. "Get some sleep, son."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?" John stood up.

"Will you stay here…until I fall asleep? I'm used to…well…Dean's usually close by, just in case."

The request caught him off guard. It had been a long time since either of his sons had sought comfort from him. "Sure, kiddo."

"And Dad?"

"Yes, Son?"

"Will you not kill Caleb? Dean kind of likes having him around."

John snorted. "Dean does, huh?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll think about it."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime, Sammy. Anytime."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

"The Great Horned Owl is the fiercest and most powerful hunter among its fellow owls." John looked up from the large book of Ornithology he was reading to stare at the unresponsive form on the bed. "I can respect that, can't you, Ace?"

Dean's pale face remained impassive. There was no movement except for the shivers still attacking his body every so often and the forced rise and fall of his chest mandated by the damn respirator.

Mackland told John the shivering would dissipate, seeing as how they had steadily been warming Dean back to normal body temperature for the last twenty-four hours. But the father in him would not be convinced until Dean was awake and complaining about all the blankets piled on top of him.

The hunter looked back at the book. "The great horned owl is known to be an aggressive and protective parent." John laughed. "Now _that_ I can definitely understand." Sometimes those shared attributes with the great horned owl got John in trouble. He had endured a lengthy lecture from Jim the previous night and suffered through the silent treatment from Caleb.

Winchester carefully turned the page, hoping Mackland was correct about Dean being able to hear them- about interaction being crucial in bringing his son back to a conscious state. When Dean woke up John would try to do things differently- do better.

"The owls will often nurture and defend their young until they are fully mature and can leave the nest." John snorted. "Right. Like I'm ever going to be ready for that moment." He glanced up at Dean. "Can we just agree now that you and Sammy aren't leaving the nest for a very, very long time?"

"Horned owls spend most of their time hunting." John read. "Their approach is silent, their prey almost always unaware." The man looked up at his son again with a derisive scoff. "That may be true when I hunt alone, but when I have you boys with me, it's rarely quiet. Most of that being your fault, as you're well aware."

John only wished his son would come back with some snarky comment or lame joke about how he and Sam would exist on grunts and growls alone if not for the eloquent conversationalist in the family. Sadly, it was probably true. "In general the great horned owl is solitary, preferring to inhabit unsettled places alone."

For some reason the eldest Winchester's eyes began to sting and he quickly rubbed at them, swallowing hard to dislodge the lump that had suddenly sprung to his tightening throat. "Guess that sounds a bit like your old man too. Huh?"

John read for a moment in silence, unable to trust his voice to remain steady and true. When his eyes fell to the next page he smiled. He glanced skyward as he often did when something ironic occurred or a memory of his dead wife exploded before him. "Now here's a bird after your own heart, son."

"A Harris Hawk. Very intelligent. And, get this, the **only** bird of prey in the world known to be naturally gregarious." John shook his head slightly. "They hunt and live together as a family, and it is not uncommon to find adult siblings sharing the same nest. When on a hunt they work as a team, again acting very differently from any other birds of prey. Two or three birds will act as sentries, guarding against larger predators while the other members draw out and capture their prey without falling into harm's way."

The hunter closed the book and leaned back in his chair. "Pretty damn considerate bird-putting other members of the family before its own needs. Almost seems to go against the instinct of a true hunter." John put Sam's book on the table and rested his elbows on his knees as he sat forward once more. "And here all this time I was worried about your priorities when it came to the job."

In an uncharacteristic move, John reached his hand through the rails of the hospital bed and placed it over his son's. "Maybe we're just different predators?"

The silence was unnerving, and John licked at his lips. "You know, now that I think of it, you used to have this whole thing for feathers. You and your mom would find them at the park, in the woods when we'd go camping. Once, Mary found you a hawk feather on the side of the road where her car broke down. She was more excited about telling me that, then explaining what in the hell had happened to that old bucket of bolts she was driving. It was the pride of your collection."

John grinned. "I used to tease her that you were going to get bird lice, but she loved the way you'd make a big deal out of each new one you'd find. God, she loved you, Ace. You and Sammy. I wish…" John felt his throat start to close up again, and he let his fingers curl around Dean's. "I wish she was here now. She'd know what to say-what to do."

"Damn it, Dean!" John growled, withdrawing his touch and standing up. He couldn't take it, not one minute longer. "Open your eyes. Now."

To his surprise a monitor near the bed beeped. For one scary second John worried he'd done something wrong, but then Dean's eyelashes fluttered against his pale skin, and the older hunter held his breath. "Come on, son. Wake up." He laid his hand against his boy's too-cold forehead. "Your brother needs you, Dean. Sammy needs you. We both do."

There was a long moment when John believed it was wishful thinking, but then Dean's eyes opened, mere slits at first, then wide with fear.

His son reached up and started for the breathing tube, but John caught his hands, gently guided them back to the bed. "Easy, Ace. Let the professionals take care of that, okay."

The teen gagged, and struggled weakly against his father's grip. John one-handedly pinned Dean's hands and used his other to push the call button. "Dean. Stop it."

When the nurse's voice came through the speaker, John barked at her to get Mac. Dean had settled some by the time Mac entered the room, followed by Pastor Jim. The minister had remained outside the room in prayer since he arrived. One flustered RN followed in their wake.

Ames's face lit up when his patient's slightly panicked and pleading gaze found his. "Look who's awake."

The nurse made her way to John's side of the bed, and not so politely asked him to move away, taking his place, holding Dean's arms.

Jim gestured for John to come and stand by him to give room for the professionals to work. Mackland leaned across the bed, pressed the button to raise the top half, and waited until the teen was elevated. "You ready to get rid of this thing?"

Dean nodded and Mac glanced at the nurse then back to the young hunter. "On the count of three, cough for me."

John watched with apprehension as his old friend expertly took hold of the breathing tube, counted quietly to the number three, and then swiftly removed it.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Dean coughed a few times, his hands rubbed his burning throat as he glared at Mac. The nurse offered him some water. He gratefully took a few sips before lying his head tiredly back on the pillow. His eyes sought out his father. "Sammy?"

Jim chuckled and Mac snorted.

John smiled wearily. "Your brother's fine."

"Where?" Dean asked, wincing as his sore throat protested.

"Up on the pediatrics floor with Caleb. The doctors have let him stay on until you decided to join the world again."

"Why don't you go see if he wants to come down for a little while?" Mackland's suggestion had all eyes on him. "I think the storm has passed." He smiled. "Everything looks good. I still want to do another MRI and CAT, but I don't see why a quick visit from Sam can't come first."

John nodded, then squeezed Dean's shoulder. "I'll be back, son." He found it surprisingly hard to walk away now that his boy was awake, but he had also promised Sam he'd come get him as soon as Mac gave permission.

"How long?" Dean croaked, taking another sip of water.

"Five days, my boy. You gave me time to get here." Jim answered, standing next to the young hunter's bedside.

"Mac had to call reinforcements?" Dean frowned, closed his eyes for a moment. "Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's fine, better now that you're awake." Jim patted the boy's shoulder.

In the hallway John ran into Caleb. The younger hunter looked up at him with a mixture of apprehension and concern. "John, is…"

"He's awake."

"Sam…," Caleb started, but John nodded.

"I'm going to get him."

"I just came from there. Those boys, Cody and Shelton were with him, but about ready to head out, I think."

"Thanks." John looked down at the floor for a second, before glancing up. "Look, kid…"

"Yeah?" Caleb met his gaze, shifting uncomfortably.

"About the other day…"

Caleb sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "I was…well…" The younger hunter shrugged. "Out of line."

"Yeah." John shrugged, looked over the other man's shoulder. "Me too."

"So…" Caleb cleared his throat. "We're good?" He raised a brow, as if he were only slightly curious.

"We're good." John agreed.

"Good. Might have been awkward…"

"Right." John started to step around him, but then stopped, holding his gaze. "Just don't let it happen again."

Caleb nodded. "Not a problem."

"Good."

The two stood there for a moment, before a hint of a smirk appeared on Caleb's handsome face. "So, are you waiting for a hug or something, big guy, because that would be awkward too, you know?"

"Smart ass, wonder where you picked that up from?" John grinned with a slight shake of his head.

"Runs in the family." Caleb smiled, glad for the normalcy. He made his way to ICU and was greeted by the cute, black-haired nurse he'd been flirting with days earlier. "Hey," he caught her arm before she could stumble.

"Hi!" she flashed him a smile, and nodded over her shoulder. "Your nephew is awake, if you want to go in."

"That's great news." He released her. "Want to help me celebrate later?"

She laughed, coyly. "Maybe."

The hunter watched her walk off, glancing back at him a couple of times as she did. Yes, things were definitely getting back to normal.

"Where's Sammy?" Croaked a voice barely recognizable as Dean's as he finally made it in to the ICU.

"Nice to see you too, Deuce." Caleb walked over to the bed, shooting Mac and Jim an amused expression as the doctor rolled his eyes at his patient's one-track mind.

"I thought…you were with him." The tone was almost accusing and Caleb held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Cut me some slack. I've been in teenage hell for the last two hours, listening to way much more than I ever wanted to know about the low cut shirt Kelley was wearing in the lunch room yesterday and who hit who the hardest in the latest round of swapping licks on the playground." Caleb shook his head. "Not to mention getting into a very disturbing discussion about political unrest in the Sudan with some really geeky kid named Buzzard or something another."

"Owl," Dean croaked, unable to resist the slight smile that hinted at his chapped lips. "Sammy has weird taste in friends."

"Yeah, well, look at his home environment," Caleb replied.

"This from the guy who hangs out with a 'Moose'."

"And haven't I warned you about those cult friends of yours?" Jim commented.

Mac excused himself before a counterattack could be waged. "I need to get things set up in Radiology for the tests I want to have run."

"Thanks, Mac…for everything."

"You're welcome." Mac patted the teen's leg and left the room.

"I am going to see what's keeping John." Jim drifted away, feeling the two young men needed some time alone.

"So…" Caleb leaned against the rail. "You still feeling the effects of the evil Doctor Ames' cold ray, Solo?"

Dean looked at him, fighting the urge to shiver. "No, I'm good and toasty."

The older hunter smirked. "Glad to hear it."

"Sammy's okay?"

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Damn, do I look like an idiot? I can take care of a kid, you know?"

"Like the time you were supposed to be watching him, but nearly let him flood Jim's bathroom."

"Newsflash…Sammy can take a bath by himself now. Although, I did have to threaten to dress him once while you were out of it."

"It's just…"Dean sighed. "I know how he can be."

"You mean how he can be a major pain in the ass."

Dean frowned. "Don't say that about him."

The older hunter smiled. "You forgetting that I can read minds?"

"I can think anything I want about him, but…"

"I know…he's your brother." Caleb sighed.

Dean shivered again, and Caleb made a big deal of jerking the covers up further, rolling his eyes, and huffing. "Damn, when is my job of Winchester nanny going to be over?"

"Sorry to put you out," Dean said, miserably, reaching up to rub at his slightly aching head. He yawned. "But you kind of had a hand in all this."

Caleb nodded, his face growing serious. "About all that, Deuce?"

Dean held up his hand. "Don't sweat it. It was an accident. I get it."

"Yeah, well, I can't say the same for your insubordination." Caleb shook his head. "Next time when we're on a hunt, I have top rank."

Dean snorted. "Whatever." His eyes drifted to the door. "Hey, you think I'm going to get a ring?"

"For what?" Caleb shook his head. "You almost died. So did Sam."

"I almost died when you got your ring."

Reaves frowned. "This was pretty scary shit, Deuce, and you slept through the worst of it. It wasn't a picnic watching your dad and Sammy go through hell not knowing if you were going to pull out of it."

Dean grinned. "You ain't going to cry or anything are you, Damien?"

"Shit." Caleb scoffed. "I've lapped two-hundred year-old scotch off the naked body of a Victoria's Secret supermodel, driven a Ferrari on the German Autobahn, and had seats on the fifty-yard line when the Cowboys won the Superbowl, and have **yet** to shed one single tear, man."

"Right." Dean smirked. "Since when do you like scotch?"

Caleb laughed. "Like you wouldn't drink anti-freeze with that kind of motivation and pay off."

"True," Dean admitted around another jaw-popping yawn. Now that he was awake, he was finding it harder and harder to stay that way. "Really though…thanks for watching out for Sammy."

"If I didn't already **have** a ring then I would have gotten it for not killing the runt." Caleb cleared his throat, and stood up a little straighter. "He missed you and so did I-sort of."

The door swung open and a very breathless Sam barged into the room. "Dean!"

"Samuel!" John called from the nurse's desk where he spoke to Nurse Meyers and Pastor Jim. "This is a hospital, young man. Stop yelling!"

"Do you think he realizes that he's yelling at Sam for yelling?" Caleb asked.

Dean shook his head slightly. "Aren't families great?"

Sam crossed the floor and was at his brother's side in seconds. "You're awake."

"Hard to stay unconscious with all the noise."

Sam smiled. "Someone should talk to Dad about that." He glanced up at Caleb.

"Oh no." The older hunter backed up. "The Sammy stare no longer has any power over me. I now renounce my identity as Caleb Winchester. Caleb Reaves is so much cooler."

"Jim is taking Dad for breakfast. Real steak and eggs."

Caleb felt his mouth water. He could catch up with them and also check in with Moose at Tri-Corp. "Sammy, think you can watch over your brother until Mac comes back?"

"I can handle it." Sam said, grateful Caleb was leaving the two brothers alone.

"Be a good boy, Deuce and I'll bring you back a happy meal."

"Can I get a supermodel as my prize?"

Reaves snorted and squeezed his forearm. "You wish."

Sam let his eyes travel the length of his brother's body and back. "So, you're okay?"

Dean fought off another shiver, and forced a smile. "Now that I'm defrosting, I'm doing much better."

Sam leaned forward. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dean frowned. "You and Caleb paint my toenails while I was on ice or something? Tell me you didn't die my hair like I did yours that time when you were like ten."

Sam shook his head. "I'm trying to be serious here."

Dean grinned, blinking to keep his eyes from closing all the way. "Dude, you've been way too serious lately."

"I thought you were going to die."

The words or maybe their solemn tone had Dean forcing himself to stay awake. "Are you kidding? And leave you to finish raising Dad?"

"I just…" Sam glanced down at the bed where his hands were fiddling with one of the blankets covering his brother. "And then Dad wouldn't let me see you…well, except for that one time."

Dean frowned. A faint memory of his brother being with him in the cold darkness floated up from his subconscious like residual feelings from a bad dream. "I didn't want you here."

Sam looked up, his brown-flecked gaze showing both hurt and a little anger. "Why? You would have stayed with me."

"Yeah, and that's why I get paid the big brother bucks. Sidekicks and little brothers have to work their way up, earn their own capes." Dean forced a half smile. "You haven't even got a utility belt yet."

"I'm not a baby."

Dean sighed. "I know." He could easily recall that innocent six-year-old version of Sam, the one that clung to him in the coatroom, trusting him to make it all better. A hint of a smile touched his face. "But it was easier when you were."

Sam held his gaze, and nodded. "Yeah, for both of us."

The older teen turned his head more, shifting on the bed slightly. "Look, Sammy, I'm not going to be able to stay awake here much longer, but I want to get one thing clear-okay?"

"What's that?"

"I get that you're growing up, and that it sucks to be you right now, but I can't stop being who I am, or stop doing what I've been doing my whole life just because you've come down with a bad case of testosterone."

Sam nodded. "You're my big brother." He wouldn't change that, even if he could.

Dean nodded. "That about sums it up."

"No matter where I am, you'll always find me."

"Absolutely."

"And you have to protect me."

"Right." Dean blinked again, his eyes staying shut for a moment longer than before. "It's my job."

"And you won't ever leave me."

Dean opened his eyes, not missing how the younger boy's breath caught. "Not without one hell of a fight, kiddo."

Sam nodded, watching his brother finally lose his struggle to stay awake. "And you love me." he whispered.

Dean muttered in his sleep. The words sounding to Sam like he said, "More than anything." But then again, it could have been. "No chick-flick scene."

Sam decided it didn't really matter, because both meant the same thing. He covered Dean's hand with his own and smiled. "I love you too, Dean."

RcJ


	13. Chapter 13

Heroes Revisited

Chapter 13

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Wow! It's finally finished. Thanks to Tidia I have had the chance to enjoy redoing this work. I think it rings true to the AU now and hopefully has improved technically also. I also appreciate the reviews and comments and the readers who allowed me to share this. Thank you!

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

_What makes us heroic?—Confronting simultaneously our supreme suffering and our supreme hope.-Nietzsche _

Two days later found Sam entering his brother's new room on the pediatrics level. Much to his thirteen-year-old's delight, the hospital had been hit with a sudden influx of late season flu victims and Dean had been bumped down to the kiddy floor-Princess suite, to beat it all.

"Hey, Cinderellie," Sam said cheerfully in his best mouse voice as he pushed the door open.

Dean glared at him from over one of the car magazines Caleb had brought by yesterday. The gesture would have been nice if said magazines hadn't come in a pink bag adorned with several bubble-gum colored balloons with ballet slippers on them and a tag that read to my favorite niece, Deana. Sam laughed a little longer and louder than he should have.

"Go away, traitor." The older teen grumbled, returning to his reading. He was in bed, his leg back in the brace and propped up.

"Come on, man." Sam sighed, sitting on the bed, trying not to laugh at the Snow White lamp. "I brought you something." He held up the brown bag Shelton had sent him and shook it.

His brother dropped the magazine and looked longingly at the sack. "Sammy, if there is a cheeseburger in there, all trespasses will be forgotten and I might have to kiss you."

"Yuck." Sam feigned disgust. "Glad that never crossed my mind."

"Hot chocolate? Coffee?" Dean inquired. "I'm still freakin' cold, and Mac won't give me any freakin' thing but broth."

"Nope." Sam shrugged. "Sorry. But you'll like it. Just open it and see."

Dean took the bag and peaked inside, his face twisting into one of his patented half-assed grins. "Dude, I hate to tell you this, but I prefer boxers. And I'm really sick of this princess shit…"

Sam rolled his eyes, grabbed the bag and dumped the contents onto his brother's chest. "They're from the panty raid you helped us plan, you idiot."

Dean smiled as he finally understood. He picked up one pink, cotton brief. "You didn't? _My_ little brother? No way. Tell me the truth-you were just the lookout."

Sam shook his head indignantly. "That was Cody. Shelton and I actually got in the girls' drawers." The teen's face reddened at Dean's surprised and amused look. "I mean…"

"You got in some girl's drawers while you were at camp? Maybe I was wrong about this place. It's sounding more and more like Disneyland."

Sam stumbled over his words. "No. I mean…not actually the girls' drawers…but their chests…I mean…"

"You got some chest action too?" Dean raised his brow, and let out a low whistle. "With that cute little thing, Kelly. Right? That's my boy. Tell big brother, Dean, all about it." He glanced around the room, and punched Sam in the shoulder. "Although this isn't exactly the setting I imagined we'd be having this talk in. Damien took me to a bar, but hey, we have to work with what we've got."

Sam groaned. "No! Not _their _chests …but the chest of drawers where they kept their…unmentionables." He sighed. "We took all of them. Shelton even ran some up the flag pole."

"Unmentionables?" Dean laughed at the completely mortified and flustered look on his brother's face. "You're going on fourteen, Sammy. Not forty. You can say the P-word."

"Give me a break, Dean." Sam leaned against the head of the bed, bumping his shoulder against his brother's. He shoved some of his long hair out of his eyes. "I just wanted you to know that I listened to you-that I was thinking of you while I was gone-even if I was a huge jerk before I left."

Dean looked at the younger teen. "So…you don't think having me as a big brother is all that bad now?"

Sam bit his lip. "No. You have your moments."

"And you don't hate me?"

Sam swallowed hard. "No. I could never hate you, Dean. I never meant…"

Dean held up his hand, effectively letting his little brother off the hook. "Then how about the next time you get all pissy, you just tell me to fuck off instead of throwing a tantrum like a girl."

Sam nodded. "I can do that."

"Good."

"Is there anything else I can do?"

"Yeah, you can bring me a freakin' cheeseburger."

"Thanks for taking care of me, Dean. Even though I still don't remember everything that happened…I know you saved me and…"

Dean groaned and glared at the goofy smile on Sam's face. "How did me asking for a cheeseburger turn this into yet another princess moment?"

"I'm guessing the altar of panties there on your chest help set the mood." Caleb said, having slipped into the room unnoticed and now came to stand beside the bed. "You'll evoke the estrogen gods if you're not careful there, Deuce. Are you sure you're recovered enough for that?"

"Funny." Dean smirked. "Almost as funny as your little gift yesterday. But these happen to be tokens from a very important hunting exercise."

Caleb frowned. "And you thought **I** was sick for keeping those werewolf paws?"

"You don't see Sammy wearing them on cord around his neck, do ya?"

The older hunter turned to look at the youngest boy. "Those belong to _you, _Runt?"

The thirteen-year-old boy's face reddened again. "No…they're…I mean…"

"You pay somebody for them?"

"What?" Sam gulped, his eyes widening indignantly.

"Yeah," Caleb leaned against the mattress and crossed his arms over his chest. "Like on that movie-the geek kid bribes the girl for her undies to impress his friends."

Dean frowned. "Dude, he's a Winchester. He doesn't have to pay to see a girl's underwear."

"Really, because I remember that time when you went with me to that little border town and…"

"And what?" John now entered the room, along with Mac and Jim. He pinned Caleb with a hard look.

The younger hunter raked a hand through his hair. "And it happened a long time ago." One year ago to be exact.

"Uh huh." John moved his eyes from Caleb to his two sons. "Do I want to know why there is girl's underwear all over your bed, Dean?"

Dean smiled. "Get well gifts from all my female admirers."

"Yeah, Mr. Taylor brought them from school." Sam chimed in, enjoying the look on the older hunters' faces. "He brought a card, too."

"Whatever happened to flowers or magazines? What's going on with our youth these days, Johnathan? And do educators actually encourage this kind of brazen behavior?"

"I'm just glad there is only one week left of school." John replied.

"I came to say goodbye and that I expect you to come recuperate on the farm." Jim smiled. "We'll do lots of fishing and sitting on the porch."

"You have to leave so soon?" Sam asked from his perch on Dean's bed.

"Deacon Benjamin is talking of a takeover again, isn't he Jim?" Mackland grinned over the pastor's head to John.

"You know I know that as The Knight I'm not supposed to get involved with personal matters, but . . ." John laughed.

"I will deal with Deacon Benjamin as I have for the last ten years." Jim crossed his arms, refusing to play along.

"You coming, Damien?" Dean asked Caleb. Time on Jim's farm was more entertaining with the psychic.

"Some of us have to work. Tri-Corp has a project to finish." Caleb picked up one of the panties and twirled it on his finger.

"Do I still have a job?" John tilted his head. He had been working at the job site.

Caleb nodded. "With health insurance benefits, because I have an in with the owner."

"I have an in with the doctor." Sam added, and everyone's attention went to him. "Mr. Taylor is Dr. White's brother."

"_Little_ brother," Ryan corrected as he entered the already crowded room.

"Your brother brought those to Samuel." Jim stated, his mouth in a thin line as he addressed the young doctor. "Do you wish to explain this?"

Mackland enjoyed his colleague's discomfiture, but decided to intervene. "I think it's because there are no good role models. Kids don't have heroes these days."

"Don't look at me." John shook his head at his old friend. "The Duke was my hero."

"Which one?" Caleb asked around a cocky grin. "Bo or Luke? Because I definitely saw you as more of a Cooter type."

"Funny. And who was your hero, tough guy? Rambo?"

"Are you kidding? Chuck Norris, of course."

"I call bullshit on that one." Dean piped in, only to receive a scowl from the pastor. "Yeah, yeah…language." The teen rolled his eyes. "But I know exactly who Caleb's hero was." He glanced conspiratorially to his younger brother. "Remember when he wore nothing but pastel t-shirts and those deck shoes."

"Sonny Crockett." Sam laughed with a nod.

"No, I didn't." Caleb defended, heatedly. "I have never worn pink or yellow in my life."

"It was aqua." Mac nodded, a finger pressed thoughtfully to his chin. "That t-shirt you wore all the time with the white jacket over it. I remember it quite clearly."

"And those shoes without socks as I recall," Jim added.

John laughed. "Oh, please tell me you have a picture."

"Actually…"

"Mac." Caleb growled.

"My hero was Hulk Hogan." Dr. White spoke up, determined not to be left out. "I wanted to be a professional wrestler the whole time I was in high school."

"That would explain your unusual approach to patient care." Ames told the young man. "If you had been one of my residents I would have suggested that you take up that crusade instead of clothes-lining sick people left and right."

"And here I was about to say that after I reached med school **you** became my hero, Dr. Ames."

Mackland scoffed. "I am still not recommending you for residency at John's Hopkins."

Dean spoke next. "Don't feel too bad, Doc. I'll let you be my hero, if you just say I can get out of this palace."

Sam looked at his brother and grinned. "You're going to hurt Dad's feelings."

"Shut up, Samantha," Dean replied. His face flushed a little at his brother's insinuation their father was _Dean's _hero.

"Well, you're free to go as soon as your father can come down and sign the last few forms. Besides, I have a six-year-old girl coming in for a tonsillectomy, who might actually appreciate this room."

"I can do that." John shot both his boys a look. "Before I leave here with two girls instead of my big, brave sons."

"And I believe Nurse Myers wants to speak with you." Ryan pointed at Caleb. "Something about causing an epidemic of sedition and a breakdown of morale in her nursing ranks."

"Damn." Caleb shook his head. "That woman scares me."

"Want to take her a peace offering?" Dean smirked and held up a pair of the panties. "Conjure some estrogen, seeing as how all of hers has dried up, leaving her immune to your charm."

"Boys." Jim shook his head.

Caleb smirked. "I'm so glad you're feeling better, Deuce." Caleb turned to his father. "You going to help me out here, _Dad_? She thinks you're some kind of cross between God and Hippocrates himself."

"Oh, I don't think so," Mac said as he followed the other men out. "There comes a time when a parent must cut those ties, you know."

"Yeah, funny how it's never a convenient time for the child."

"You think Atilla will nail him?" Sam asked his brother once they were alone.

Dean smiled, and bobbed his eyebrows. "Depends on how many of her nurses _he _managed to nail."

Sam shook his head. "You're hopeless. Is that all you think about?"

"I also occasionally think of food, which reminds me…"

The younger boy groaned. "Alright, I'll get you the stupid cheeseburger."

"Make it quick while Nurse Hun is busy killing Caleb."

"Fine." Sam started off the bed, but Dean caught his arm and stopped him. "By the way, you never got around to saying who _your_ hero was."

Sam held his brother's gaze for a moment, trying to decide if the other teen was looking for a real answer or just something else to torment him. He meant to say Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King, or even Pastor Jim, because all of those sounded plausible. But then an image of his brother broken, bleeding and chained to wall flashed before his eyes, followed by one of him shielding Sam with his own body as a fire raged around them, and yet another of Dean's shiver wracked body strapped to a hospital bed, and the desperate truth slipped out.

"You." The teen swallowed, glancing down at the floor before looking once more at his big brother. "You're my hero, Dean."

The older boy tightened his grip on Sam's arm, smiling slightly, his eyes brightening just a little before he let Sam go with an exaggerated groan. "_God_, get rid of these underwear before you break out in song." He shook his head. "What are we going to do with you the first time you see a bra, kiddo?"

"Fuck off, Dean."

Dean feigned shock, but then laughed. "See, was that so hard?"

_July 2006 re-edited in 2007_


End file.
